Léonie's father lived in Paris, and he had brought her when only three years old to the gray stone house and the care of his only sister, Madame Perrin, a childless widow, who gladly received the beautiful little girl to the large shelter of a loving heart. But Léonie never forgot her father. The little creature would sit on her low-cushioned chair and sing to herself, "Mon beau papa! mon beau papa! O comme je t'aime, mon beau papa!" I suppose every tender father appears beautiful to his little child, but Colonel Regnault was indeed a strikingly handsome man, with a perfect grace and dignity of manner which rendered him indispensable to the court of Louis Napoleon, where he had a prominent position on all days of ceremony. Once or twice a year he made his escape from court duties for a brief visit to Léonie, whose love for him grew more intense with years, concentrating in itself all the romance of her enthusiastic nature.
Madame Perrin saw few visitors, and scarcely ever went out except to mass. Every morning her good Louise took Léonie to the girls' school in the old stone mansion which had once been the home of Lamartine, and went every evening to conduct her home again. Of course, Léonie had her inseparable friend, as what school-girl has not, and few lovers are so devoted to each other as were Léonie Regnault and Hélène Duprès. They sat side by side every day in school, and out of school wrote each other long letters, of which they were generally themselves the bearers. Life seems so rich and inexhaustible when it is new—the merest nothing has its poem and history. They had made their first communion together, which was the most important incident hitherto in Léonie's uneventful life. Her father had come down on this occasion, and when she came from the altar he had put aside her white veil and kissed her with tears in his eyes.
Léonie had completed her fifteenth year when she was thrown into great excitement by an unexpected piece of news. Her father was about to marry. The future Madame Regnault was a young widow of good family and large fortune. He had taken this step, he said, for Léonie's sake even more than for his own. He wished to have his daughter with him and to cultivate her talents; and how could this be done without a home in Paris? The marriage would take place early in September, and the first week in October he would come for Léonie. He looked forward with delight to having a home for his beautiful beloved child.
It was the last week in September. The rain was falling in a dull dreary way, as it had been falling all day and almost a week of days.
"I wish it would clear up," said Léonie. "I hate to have everything look so dreary just the last week I have to stay."
"Do you ever think, chérie, how dull it will be for me when you are gone? What shall I do without ma chère petite?" asked Madame Perrin tenderly.
"And what shall I do without you, chère maman? I am afraid I shall not like the new mamma that papa has given me. Or perhaps I am only afraid that she will not like me. You are my real mother," taking her hand caressingly. "I wish I could remember my own mother. Why have you never told me anything about her? I have asked you so many times."
"I never was acquainted with your mother. She lived in Paris, you know, and I lived here."
"But you have seen her. Was she beautiful? Am I like her?"
"Yes," said Madame Perrin with a little start—"so much like her that it frightens me." Then more deliberately, in reply to Léonie's astonished eyes, "I mean that it is sad to be reminded of one who is dead."