sure instinct every turn of his thoughts, tried to take joy to
herself in that she had given joy to him. Though he was her uncle,
and had in fact been her master, he was actually the one real friend
whom she had made for herself in her life. There had been a month
or two of something more than friendship with George Voss; but she
was too wise to look much at that now. Michel Voss was the one
being in the world whom she knew best, of whom she thought most,
whose thoughts and wishes she had most closely studied, whose
interests were ever present to her mind. Perhaps it may be said of
every human heart in a sound condition that it must be specially
true to some other one human heart; but it may certainly be so said
of every female heart. The object may be changed from time to
time,--may be changed very suddenly, as when a girl's devotion is
transferred with the consent of all her friends from her mother to
her lover; or very slowly, as when a mother's is transferred from
her husband to some favourite child; but, unless self-worship be
predominant, there is always one friend to whom the woman's breast
is true,--for whom it is the woman's joy to offer herself in
sacrifice. Now with Marie Bromar that one being had been her uncle.
She prospered, if he prospered. His comfort was her comfort. Even
when his palate was pleased, there was some gratification akin to
animal enjoyment on her part. It was ease to her, that he should be
at his ease in his arm-chair. It was mirth to her, that he should
laugh. When he was contented she was satisfied. When he was
ruffled she was never smooth. Her sympathy with him was perfect;
and now that he was radiant with triumph, though his triumph came
from his victory over herself, she could not deny him the pleasure
of triumphing with him.

'Dear uncle,' she said, still caressing him, 'I am so glad that you