"You were always a good creature, Anne," and madame tapped her affectionately on the shoulder.
"How very well you are looking to-day," said Anne. "Mourning is uncommonly becoming to you. Becky and I were saying this morning, as you passed through the hall, that no one would suppose you to be more than thirty."
"S-i-x-t-y, my dear, s-i-x-t-y," replied the old lady, cautiously closing the door; "but you should not flatter, Annie."
"It is not flattery to speak the truth," said Anne, with a mock-injured air.
"Well, well, don't take a joke so seriously, child; what everybody says must be true, I suppose," and madame looked complacently in the glass.
"Anne, do you know I can not think of any thing but that beautiful child? Don't you think his resemblance to our Vincent very remarkable?"
"Very, dear madame, I am not at all surprised at your fancying him. He is quite a charming little fellow."
"Isn't he, though?" exclaimed madame, with a pleased laugh; "do you know Anne I have about made up my mind to adopt him? I shall call him Vincent L'Estrange Vincent."
"How charming!" said Anne, "how interesting you will look; you will be taken for his mother."