Sometimes the sisters, while they worked, sang together the hymns they had been accustomed to sing with their father on Sundays; and memory of the missing voice imparted to their tones a pathos that no mere skill could imitate.
One day, when they were thus occupied, the door-bell rang, and they heard a voice, which they thought they recognized, talking with Madame.

It was Franz Blumenthal.

"I have come to bring some small articles for the young ladies," said he.

"A week before my best friend died, a Frenchwoman came to the store, and wished to sell some fancy-baskets.

She said she was a poor widow; and Mr.Royal, who was always kind and generous, commissioned her to make two of her handsomest baskets, and embroider the names of his daughters on them.
She has placed them in my hands to-day, and I have brought them myself in order to explain the circumstances." "Are they paid for ?" inquired Madame.
"I have paid for them," replied the young man, blushing deeply; "but please not to inform the young ladies of that circumstance.