Suppose that we too take a trip in fancy to Nancy, in France, in search of poor De Vlierbeck and his daughter. Let us wind through an immense number of narrow streets in the quarter known as the Old Town and at last halt at the door of an cobbler. This is the place. Pass through the shop, mount the staircase; another story yet; open that door, and here we are.  
Every thing indicates poverty; but order and neatness preside over the room. The curtains of the little bed are white as snow, the stove is polished with black-lead till it shines, and the floor is sanded in Flemish style. Mignonette and violets bloom in a box on the window-sill, and a bird in its cage above them. A young woman sits in front of the window; but she is so intent on the she is sewing that no other sound is heard in the silent room but that made by the motion of her hands as they guide the needle. She is dressed in the plainest garments; yet they are cut and put on so that one may declare at a glance she is a lady.
 
Poor Lenora! And this was what fate had in store for thee! To hide thy noble birth under the humble roof of a mechanic; to seek a refuge from insult and contempt far from thy childhood's home; to work without ; to fight against privation and want, and to sink at last into shame and poverty, heart-broken by despair! , doubtless, has cast a yellow upon thy cheeks and stolen its radiance from thy glance. But no! thank God, it is not so! Thy heroic blood has strengthened thee against fate, and thy beauty is even more ravishing than of old! If a life has chastened thy roses, their tender bloom has only become more . Thy brow has grown loftier and purer; thine eyes still beneath their ; and that well-remembered smile still around thy coral lips!
 
Suddenly Lenora stopped working. Her hands rested on the work in her lap, her head forward, her eyes were dreamily on the ground, and her soul, wandering perhaps to other lands, seemed to abandon itself on the current of a happy reverie. After a while she placed the linen she had been sewing on a chair and got up slowly. Leaning languidly on the window-frame, she gathered a few violets, played with them a while, and then looked abroad at the sky over the roof-tops, as if to breathe once more the fresh air and enjoy the spring. Soon her eyes themselves on the bird that about its cage and ever and anon struck its bill against the wires as if striving to get out.
 
"Why dost thou want to leave us, dear little bird?" said she, softly. "Why dost thou wish to be gone, dear comforter of our sadness? Sing gayly to-day; father is well again, and life is once more a pleasure. What is it makes thee flutter about so wildly and pant in thy cage? Ah! is it not hard, dear little one, to be captive when we know there are joy and freedom in the open air?—when we are born in the fields and woods?—when we know that there alone are independence and liberty. Like thee, poor bird, I am a child of nature; I too have been torn from my birthplace; I too the where my childhood was passed! But has a friend or lover been snatched from thee—as from me—forever? Dost thou grieve for something more than space and freedom? Yet why do I ask? Thy love-season has come round again, has it not? and love is the greatest of thy little life! I understand thee, poor bird! I will no longer be thy fate! Fly away, and God help you! Begone, and enjoy the two greatest of life! Ah, how thou singest as thy wings bear thee away,—away to the sky and woods! Farewell! farewell!" As she uttered these last words Lenora opened the cage-door and released the bird, which away like an arrow. After this she resumed her work and sewed on with the same as before, till aroused by the sound of footsteps on the staircase.
 
"It is father! God grant he may have been lucky to-day!"
 
Monsieur De Vlierbeck entered the room with a roll of paper in his hand, and, throwing himself languidly into a chair, seemed altogether worn out with . He had become very thin; his eyes were sunk in their , his cheeks were pale, and his whole expression was changed and broken. It was very evident that sickness or depression, or perhaps both, had made fearful on his body as well as spirits.
 
The poor old gentleman was wretchedly clad. It was evident that he had striven as to his , for there was not a stain or grain of dust on his garments; but the stuff was threadbare and patched, and all his garments were too large for his shrunken limbs.
 
Lenora looked at him a moment anxiously. "You do not feel ill, father, do you?"
 
"No, Lenora," replied he; "but I am very wretched."
 
Lenora said nothing, but embraced him tenderly and then knelt down with his hand in hers.
 
"Father," said she, "it is hardly a week since you were ill in bed: we prayed to God for your restoration, and he listened to our prayers; you are cured, dear father, and yet you give way anew at the first disappointment. You have not been successful to-day, father? I see it in your face. Well, what of it? Why should it with our happiness? We have long learned how to fight against fate. Let us be strong and look misery in the face with heads up: courage is wealth; and so, father dear, forget your disappointment. Look at me. Am I sad? do I allow myself to be downcast and despairing? I suffered and wept enough when you were ill; but, now that you are well again, come what may, your Lenora will always thank God for his goodness!"
 
The poor old man smiled feebly at the excitement of his daughter.
 
"Poor child!" said he; "I understand very well how you strive to appear strong in order to keep me up. May heaven repay your love, dear angel whom God has given me! your word and smile control me so completely that I may say a part of your soul passes with them into mine. I came home just now quite heart-broken and half crazy with despair; but you, my child, have restored me to myself again."
 
"That's right, father," said she, rising from her knees and sitting down on a chair close beside him; "come, father, tell me now all your adventures to-day, and I will tell you something that will make you laugh."
 
", my child! I went to Monsieur Roncevaux's academy to resume my English lessons; but during my sickness an Englishman was put in my place: we have lost our best bit of bread."
 
"Well, how is it about Mademoiselle Pauline's German lesson?"
 
"Mademoiselle Pauline has gone to Strasburg and will not come back again. You see, Lenora, that we are losing every thing at once; so, have I not cause to be anxious and downcast? This news seems to overcome you, my child, strong as you are!"
 
In truth, Lenora was somewhat by the dejecting words; but her father's remark restored her self-possession, and she replied, with a forced smile,—
 
"I was thinking, father, of the pain these dismissals gave you, and they really annoyed me Yet there are some things that ought to make me happy to-day. Yes, father, I have some good news for you!"
 
"Indeed? You astonish me!"
 
Lenora to the chair.
 
"Do you see that linen?" said she. "I have a dozen fine shirts to make out of it; and when they are done there are as many more waiting for me. They pay me good wages, and I think, from what they say, that in time there will be something better in store for me. But as yet that is only a hope,—only a hope."
 
De Vlierbeck seemed particularly struck by the last remark of his daughter, as he looked at her anxiously.
 
"Well! well! what is it that makes you so happy and hopeful?" said he.
 
Lenora took up her sewing again and went busily to work.
 
"You wouldn't guess it in a week, father! Do you know who gave me this work? It is the rich lady who lives in the house with a court-yard, at the corner of our street. She sent for me this morning, and I went to her while you were abroad. You are surprised, father; are you not?"
 
"I am, indeed, Lenora. You are speaking of Madame De Royan, for whom you were employed to those handsome collars. How does she come to know you?"
 
"I really don't know. Perhaps the person who gave me her collars to embroider told her who worked them: she must have spoken to her about your illness and our poverty, for Madame De Royan knows more of us than you imagine.'
 
"Heavens! She does not know—"
 
"No! she knows nothing about our name or from whence we came."
 
"Go on, Lenora; you excite my curiosity. I see you want to teaze me to-day!"
 
"Well, father, if you are tired I will cut my story short. Madame De Royan received me with great kindness, complimented me on my , asked me some questions about our misfortunes, and consoled and encouraged me generously. 'Go, my child!' said she, as she gave me the linen; 'work with a good will and be : I will protect you. I have a great deal of sewing to do,—enough for two months at least. But that would not be enough; I mean to recommend you to all my friends, and I mean to see that you are paid for your work in such a way that your father and yourself shall be above want.' I took her hand and kissed it, for I was touched by the with which she give me work and not alms! Madame De Royan understood me, and, laying her hand on my shoulder, 'Keep up your spirits, Lenora,' said she; 'the time will come when you must take to help you, and so by degrees you will become mistress of a shop.' Yes, father, that's what she said; I know her words by heart."
 
With this she sprang to her father, embraced him, and added, with considerable emotion,—
 
"What say you to it, father? Is it not good news? Who knows what may come to pass? Apprentices,—a shop,—a store,—a servant: you will keep the books and buy our goods, I will sit in the room and superintend the workwomen! How sweet it is to be happ............