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old friendship between Marie and Francesca had returned with something of the warmth and confidence of its earlier time. As usual, the motives which led to its renewal were of a very mixed nature. At once affectionate and reserved, Francesca’s temper needed an object to love, but she was too shy to make the first advances; hence an old attachment, made easy by the freedom of childhood, and unrestrained through long habit, had upon her a more than ordinary hold. She had also been so long debarred from any interchange of feelings and sentiments—so surrounded by strangers, that it was a true enjoyment to meet with one, who, if she did not enter into many of the emotions connected with it, was yet able and ready to talk of the past. Moreover, to a generous nature like her own, the very fact of