As yet she had not spoken; but her eyes had been wandering over the many splendours of the room.  Suddenly she lifted them to the handsome face above her, and said in a low, awe-struck whisper: 

“Is this the king’s palace?  And are you a prince?”

Adrien Leroy smiled.

“By no means,” he said.  “Ah! here comes something you require, I know,” he added, as the door opened, and Norgate entered, bearing a large silver tray.

Having set the chairs to table, and placed the wine and glasses at hand, the man announced respectfully that supper was served.  His master dismissed him, guessing that the girl would be less embarrassed if alone with him; and Norgate retired with a face as expressionless as if the entertaining of “street waifs”—­as he mentally termed the young visitor—­were of nightly occurrence.

Adrien placed a plate of cold chicken on a low table beside her.

“You are warm there,” he said, as he poured her out a glass of wine.

The girl looked up into his face with a mute, questioning glance; then, taking courage from the kindly eyes, she picked up her knife and fork with long, thin, but well-shaped hands.

Leroy turned to the table, and by dint of helping himself from various dishes, under a pretence of making a hearty meal, he gave her confidence; and presently he saw that she had commenced to eat.  Adrien rose from time to time, and waited on her with a delicacy and tenderness with which few of his friends would have credited him; till, with a sigh of content, she laid down the knife and fork.

“Are you better now?” he asked as he took her plate.

She looked up at him in speechless adoration, and her eyes filled with tears.

“How good you are to me,” she said.  “I never dreamt there could be such a beautiful place as this.  Do you often bring people in out of the cold?”

His face became grave.

“No,” he said evasively—­“not as often as I should, I’m afraid.  And now, suppose you tell me your name.”

“Jessica,” she replied simply.

“And have you no relatives—­no friends to help you?” he continued.

She shook her head sadly.

“Only Martha and Johann,” was the hopeless reply.

“You poor child!  And what does friend Johann do for a living?”

Again she shook her head.

“I don’t know.  He gets drunk.”

“An overfilled profession that,” said Leroy, with a sigh.  “And now, what are we to do with you, little Jessica?”

She looked up with frightened eyes.

“Oh,” she cried breathlessly, “are you going to turn me out into the cold again?  Must I go?  Oh, I knew it was too good to last!”

In her terror she had started up; but Leroy put her back gently into the chair.

“No, little one, we won’t turn you out to-night,” he promised.  “To-morrow, we will see what can be done to make your road softer in future.”