"Thou art her namesake, Therese. She was thy great-grandmother—the one of whom I have been telling thee. She came of a noble French family who cast her off because she embraced the Reformed faith. They would have shut her up, but she escaped to the good pastor Rabant, who gave her shelter, and there thy great-grandfather found and married her."

"I have seen somebody very much like her, but I cannot think who," said Therese, studying the picture intently.

Grandma Duval smiled. "Look in the glass, my child. Thou art the very picture of that poor afflicted one. Mayst thou have her faith and steadfastness to lay down all at the call of duty! But art thou not staying too long, my child?"

"Mrs. Tremaine said I might stay as long as you liked to have me," said Therese. "Let me get your supper for you."

"Gladly, so thou wilt share it with me. It is a pleasure to see thee going about. If I had a little house-fairy like thee, I might consent to follow the good doctor's advice and have somebody to stay with me."

"It troubles me to think of your being alone," said Therese, glad to have her grandmother touch on the delicate subject of her own accord. "Is there nobody—Joujou Lenoir, now—"

Grand-mère Duval made a face of disgust. "Bah! She is a break-all, a what say you? A slattern, a gad-about. She would drive me mad. I cannot bear the thought of a stranger about me. No, no, child, that can never be."

Therese understood her grandmother well enough to know that there was no use in saying any more. She got the supper ready, milked the little cow, which was one of the old lady's chief sources of revenue, and skimmed the cream, while Madame Duval produced her finest dish of preserved strawberries and her favourite cream-cheese to grace the meal.

"I shall leave thee the receipt for this cheese for part of thy inheritance," said she, with gentle pride; "nobody here knows how to make it rightly."

When the time came for Therese to go, the old lady held her long in a close embrace. It was evident that her heart clung to the child of her poor perverse daughter.