Louise, the lapidary's daughter, was possessed of remarkable loveliness; tall and graceful, she resembled the classic Juno for regularity of features, and the huntress Diana for the finish of her tall figure. In spite of her sunburned complexion, her rough and freckled hands, beautifully formed, but hardened by domestic labor; in spite of her humble garments, this girl possessed a nobility of exterior.

We will not attempt to describe the gratitude and surprise of this family, so abruptly snatched from a fearful fate; in the first burst of happiness, even the death of the little girl was forgotten. Rudolph alone remarked the extreme paleness of Louise, and the utter abstraction with which she seemed oppressed, in spite of her father's deliverance. Wishing to completely satisfy the Morels as to apprehensions about the future, and to explain a liberality which might otherwise betray suspicions as to the character he thought proper to assume, Rudolph said to the lapidary, whom he took to the landing (while Miss Dimpleton broke to Louise the news of her sister's death):

"Yesterday morning a young lady came to see you."

"Yes, sir, and appeared much distressed at the situation in which she found us."

"It is to her you must return thanks, and not to me."

"Is it indeed true, sir? That young lady—"

"Is your benefactress. I have often waited upon her with goods from our warehouse. The day before yesterday, while I was here engaging an apartment on the fourth story, I learned from the portress your cruel position. Knowing this lady's charity, I went to her. She came, so that she might herself judge of the extent of your misfortunes, with which she was painfully moved; but as your situation might be the result of misconduct, she begged of me as soon as possible, to make some inquiries respecting you, as she was desirous of apportioning her benefits according to your deserts."

"Good and excellent lady! I had reason to say—"

"As you observed to Madeleine: 'If the rich knew,' is it not so?"

"How, sir!—you know the name of my wife! Who told you that?"

"Since six o' clock this morning," said Rudolph, interrupting Morel,
"I have been concealed in the little loft which adjoins your garret."

"You, sir!"

"Yes, and I have heard all that passed, my honest man."

"Oh, sir! but why were you there?"

"I could employ no better means of getting at your real character and sentiments. I wished to see and hear all, without your knowledge. The porter had spoken to me of this little nook, and offered it to me that I might keep my wood in it. This morning I requested him to permit me to visit it; I remained there an hour, and I feel convinced that there does not exist a character more worthy, noble, and courageously resigned than yours."

"Nay, sir, indeed I cannot see much merit in my conduct; I was born honest, and cannot act otherwise than I have done."

"I know it; and for that reason I do not praise your conduct but appreciate it. I had quitted the loft to release you from the bailiffs when I heard your daughter's voice. I wished to leave her the pleasure of saving you; unhappily the rapacity of the bailiffs prevented poor Louise from enjoying so sweet a delight. I then made my appearance. Fortunately, I yesterday recovered several sums of money that were due to me, and I was able to give an advance to your benefactress by paying for you this unfortunate debt. But your misfortunes are so great, so unmerited, so nobly sustained, that the interest felt for you and deserved, will not stop here. I can, in the name of your preserving angel, assure you of future repose with happiness to you and yours."

"Is it possible? But at least tell me her name, sir—the name of this preserving angel, as you have called her."

"Yes, she is an angel; and you have still reason to say that the great and the lowly have their troubles."

"Is this lady, then, unhappy?"

"Who is there without their sorrows? But I see no cause to withhold her name. This lady is called—"

Remembering that Mrs. Pipelet knew that Lady d'Harville had come to her house to inquire for the Commander, Rudolph, hearing the indiscreet gossiping of the portress, said after a moment's reflection: "I will tell you the name of this lady on one condition—"

"Oh, pray, speak, sir!"

"It is, that you will repeat it to no one. You understand!—to no one."

"Oh, I will solemnly promise that to you. But cannot I at least offer my thanks to this savior of the unhappy?"

"I will ask Lady d'Harville, and I doubt not she will give her consent."

"Then this lady is—"

"The Marchioness d'Harville."

"Oh, I shall never forget that name! It shall be my saint, my adoration! To think that, thanks to her, my wife and children are saved! saved!—no, not all, not all, my poor little Adele, we shall never see her again. Alas! but it is necessary to remember that any day we might have lost her, for she was doomed." Here the poor lapidary brushed the tears from his eyes.

"As regards the last sad duties to be performed for this little one," said Rudolph, "trust to my advice; this is what must be done: I do not yet occupy my room, which is large, wholesome, and well aired. There is already a bed in it; we will convey thither all that is necessary for yourself and family to be established there till Lady d'Harville has arranged where to lodge you suitably. Your child's body will remain in the garret, where it shall to-night, as is customary, be attended and watched by a priest. I will go and request M. Pipelet to undertake the management of these sad duties."

"But, sir, it is not necessary to deprive you of your room. Now that we are in peace, and I no longer fear being taken to prison, our humble apartment appears to me a palace, particularly if my dear Louise remains with us, to attend to the family as formerly."

"Your Louise will not again leave you. You said not long ago it would be a luxury to have her always with you; as some recompense for your past sufferings, she shall never leave you again."

"Oh, sir, can it be possible? It surely cannot be a reality! My senses seem lulled in a sweet dream. I have never thought much of religion, but this sudden change from so much misery to so much happiness shows the hand of an overruling Providence."

"And if a father's grief could be assuaged by promises of reward or recompense," said Rudolph, "I should remind you, that although the Almighty hand has removed one of your daughters from you, He has mercifully restored another."

"True, true, sir. Henceforth we shall have our dear Louise to content us for the loss of poor little Adele."

"You will accept my chamber, will you not? If you refuse, how can you manage the mournful duties toward the poor child that is gone? Think also of your wife, whose mind is already so distracted—to leave her for four-and-twenty hours with such an afflicting spectacle before her eyes!"

"You think of everything—of all! How kind you are, sir!"

"It is your benefactress you must thank, for her goodness inspires me. I say to you as she would say, and I am sure she would approve of all; so it is agreed that you will accept the offer of my room. Now tell me, this Jacques Ferrand—"

A dark frown passed across Morel's face.

"This Jacques Ferrand," continued Rudolph, "is the same lawyer who resides in the Rue du Sentier?"

"Yes, sir; do you know him?" Then, his fears newly awakened on the subject of Louise, Morel exclaimed: "Since you have heard all that passed, sir, say, say—have I not a right to hate this man? And who knows, if my child, my Louise—"

He could not proceed; he hid his face with his hands. Rudolph understood his fears.

"The lawyer's proceedings," said he to him, "ought to reassure you, as he doubtless ordered your arrest to be revenged for the scorn of your daughter; I have good reason, too, to believe that he is a dishonest man. If he is so," resumed Rudolph, after a moment's silence, "let us believe that Providence will punish him. If the justice of Heaven often appears to slumber it awakens some time or other."

"He is very rich, and very hypocritical, sir."

"In your deepest despair, a guardian angel came to your assistance, and plucked you from inevitable ruin; so, at a moment when least expected, the Almighty Avenger may call upon the lawyer to atone for his past crimes if he be guilty."

At this moment Miss Dimpleton came from the garret, wiping her eyes. Rudolph said to the young girl, "Will it not, my good neighbor, be better that M. Morel should occupy my room, with his family, until his benefactress, whose agent I am, shall have provided a suitable lodging?"

Miss Dimpleton regarded Rudolph with a look of unfeigned surprise. "Oh, sir! are you really in earnest when you make so generous an offer?"

"Yes, but on one condition, which will depend on yourself."

"Oh, depend upon all that is in my power!"

"I had some accounts required in haste, to arrange for my employers; they will come for them soon. Now, if you will be so neighborly as to permit me to work in your room, on a corner of your table, I should not disturb your work in the least, and the Morel family can, with the assistance of M. and Mrs. Pipelet, immediately be settled in my room."

"Oh, if it be only that, sir, most willingly; neighbors ought to assist each other. You have set so good an example by what you have done for that poor Morel, that I am at your service, sir."

"No, no, call me neighbor. If you use any ceremony toward me, I shall not have courage to intrude on you," said Rudolph.

"Well, then, it shall be so, I will call you 'neighbor,' because you really are so."

"Father, father!" cried one of Morel's little boys, coming out of the garret, "mother is calling you; come directly, pray do." The lapidary hastily entered the room.

"Now, neighbor," said Rudolph to Miss Dimpleton, "you must render me a still further service."

"With all my heart, if it be in my power."

"You are, I am sure, an excellent little housewife. It is necessary to purchase immediately all that is wanted for Morel's family to be properly clothed, bedded, and settled in my room, for there is only sufficient for myself as a bachelor, that was brought yesterday. How can we manage to procure instantly all I wish for the Morels?"

Miss Dimpleton thought for a moment, and answered: "In a couple of hours you can have all your want; good clothes ready-made, warm and neat, with good clean linen for all the family: two little beds for the children, and one for the grandmother—in short, all that is necessary; but it will cost a great deal of money."

"You don't say so! How much?"

"Oh, at least—at the very least—five or six hundred francs."

"For everything?"

"Yes, it is a great sum of money, you see," said Miss Dimpleton opening her large eyes, and shaking her bead.

"And we can procure all these things—"

"In two hours."

"You must be a fairy, neighbor."

"Oh, no, it is quite easy. The Temple is only two steps from here, where you will find all of which you are in want." "The Temple?"

"Yes, the Temple."

"What place is that?"

"Don't know the Temple, neighbor?"

"No."

"It is, nevertheless, here where people like you and I furnish our rooms, and clothe ourselves, when we would be economical. Things are cheaper there than elsewhere, and quite as good."

"Really?"

"I assure you. Come, now, I suppose—But what did you pay for this great-coat?"

"I do not know exactly."

"What, neighbor, can't tell how much your great-coat cost you?"

"I acknowledge to you in confidence," said Rudolph, smiling, "that I owe for it; now do you understand that I cannot know?"

"Oh, neighbor, neighbor, I fear you are a spendthrift!"

"Alas! neighbor!"

"You must alter in that respect, if you wish us to be good friends; and I already see that we shall be such, you appear so kind! You shall see that you will be glad to have me for a neighbor; for on that account we can assist each other. I will take care of your linen, and you will help me clean my room. I rise very early, and will call you, so that you may not be late at your shop. I'll knock at the wall until you say to me: 'Good-morning, neighbor.'"

"It is agreed; you shall wake me, take care of my linen, and I will clean your room."

"And you will be very neat?"

"Certainly."

"And when you wish to make any purchase, you will go to the Temple, because here is an example; your greatcoat cost, I suppose, eighty francs; very well, you could have had it at the Temple for thirty."

"Why, that is marvelous! Then you think that with five or six hundred francs, these poor Morels—"

"Will be stocked with everything, first-class, for a long time to come."

"Neighbor, an idea has just struck me."

"Well, what is it about?"

"Do you understand household affairs—are you clever at making purchases?"

"Yes—rather so," said Miss Dimpleton, with a look of simplicity.

"Take my arm, and let us go to the Temple and buy wherewith to clothe the Morels; will that suit you?"

"Oh, what happiness! Poor creatures!—but where's the money?"

"I have sufficient."

"Five hundred francs?"

"The benefactress of the Morels has given me carte blanche; nothing is to be spared that these poor people require. Is there even a place where better things are to be had than at the Temple?"

"You will find nowhere better; then there is everything, and all ready-made—little frocks for the children, and dresses for their mother."

"Then let us go at once to the Temple, neighbor."

"Oh! but—"

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing; but you see, my time is everything to me; and I am already a little behindhand, in occasionally nursing the poor woman Morel; and you may imagine that an hour in one way and an hour in another makes in time a day; a day brings thirty sous, and if we earn nothing one must still live all the same. But, pshaw! never mind; I must spare from my nights; and then, again, parties of pleasure are rare, and I will make this a joyful day; it will seem to me that I am rich, and that it is with my own money I am buying such good things for these poor Morels. Very well, as soon as I have put on my shawl and cap, I shall be at your service, neighbor."

"Suppose, during the time, I bring my papers to your room?"

"Willingly, and then you will see my apartment," said Miss Dimpleton, with pride; "for it is already put in order, and that will prove to you that I am an early riser, and that if you are sleepy and idle so much the worse for you, for I shall be a troublesome neighbor."

So saying, light as a bird, she flew down the stairs, followed by Rudolph, who went to his room to brush off the dust he had carried away from Pipelet's loft. We will hereafter disclose to the reader how Rudolph was not yet informed of the abduction of Fleur-de-Marie from Bouqueval farm, and why he had not visited the Morels the day after the conversation with Lady d'Harville.

Rudolph, for the sake of appearances, furnished himself with a large roll of papers, which he carried into Miss Dimpleton's room.

Miss Dimpleton was nearly of the same age as Goualeuse, her former prison-friend. There was between these girls the same difference that exists between laughter and tears; between joyful carelessness and melancholy reverie; between daring improvidence and serious, incessant anticipation of the future: between a nature exquisitely delicate, elevated, poetic, morbidly sensitive, incurably wounded by remorse, and a disposition gay, lively, happy, unreflective, although good and compassionate; for, far from being selfish, Miss Dimpleton only cared for the griefs of others; with them she sympathized entirely, devoting herself, soul and body, to those who suffered; but, to use a common expression, her back turned on them, she thought no more about them. Often she interrupted a lively laugh to weep passionately, and checked her tears to laugh again. A real child of Paris, Miss Dimpleton preferred tumult to quiet, bustle to repose, the sharp, ringing harmony of the orchestra at the balls of the Chartreuse and the Colysee, to the soft murmur of wind, water, and trees; the deafening tumult of the streets of Paris, to the silence of the country; the dazzling of the fireworks, the glittering of the flowers, the crash of the rockets, to the serenity of a lovely night—starlit, clear, and still. Alas! yes, this good girl preferred the black mud of the streets of the capital to the verdure of its flowery meadows; its pavements miry or tortuous, to the fresh and velvet moss of the paths in the woods, perfumed by violets; the suffocating dust at the City gates, or the Boulevards, to the waving of the golden ears of corn, enameled by the scarlet of the wild poppy and the azure of the bluebell.

Miss Dimpleton never left home but on Sundays, and every morning laid in her provisions of chick-weed, bread, hempseed, and milk for her birds and herself, as Mrs. Pipelet observed. But she lived in Paris for the sake of Paris; she would have been miserable elsewhere than in the capital.

After a few words upon the personal appearance of the grisette, we will introduce Rudolph into his neighbor's apartment.

Miss Dimpleton had scarcely attained her eighteenth year; rather below the middle size, her figure was so gracefully formed and voluptuously rounded, harmonizing so well with a sprightly and elastic step, that an inch more in height would have spoiled the graceful symmetry that distinguished her. The movement of her pretty little feet, incased in faultless boots of black cloth, with a rather stout sole, reminded you of the quick, pretty, and cautious tread of the quail or wagtail. She did not seem to walk, but to pass over the pavement as if she were gliding over its surface. This step, so peculiar to grisettes, at once nimble, attractive, and as if somewhat alarmed, may be attributed to three causes; their desire to be thought pretty, their fear of a too-plainly expressed admiration, and the desire they always have not to lose a minute in their peregrinations.

Rudolph had never seen Miss Dimpleton but by the somber light in Morel's garret, or on the landing, equally obscure; he was therefore dazzled by the brilliant freshness of the girl, when he entered silently her room, lit by two large windows. He remained for an instant motionless, struck by the charming picture before him. Standing before a glass, placed over the chimney-piece, Miss Dimpleton had just finished tying under her chin the strings of a small cap of bordered tulle, trimmed with cherry-colored ribbons. The cap, which fitted tightly, was placed far back on her head, and thus revealed two large thick braids of glossy hair, shining like jet, and falling very low in front. Her eyebrows, well-defined, seemed as if traced in ink, and were arched above large black eyes, full of vivacity and expression; her firm and downy cheeks were tinted with a lovely bloom, like a ripe peach sprinkled with the dew of morning. Her small, upturned, and saucy nose would have made the fortune of a Lisette or Marton; her mouth, rather large, with rosy lips and small white teeth, was full of laughter and sport; her cheeks were dimpled and also her chin, not far from which was a little speck of beauty, a dark mole, killingly placed at the corner of her mouth. Between a very low worked collar and the border of the little cap, gathered in by a cherry-colored ribbon, was seen beautiful hair, so carefully twisted and turned up, that its roots were as clear and as black as if they had been painted on the ivory of that tempting neck. A plum-colored merino dress, with a plain back and tight sleeves, skillfully made by herself, covered a bust so dainty and supple, that the young girl never wore a corset—for economy's sake. An ease and unusual freedom in the smallest action of the shoulders and body, resembling the facile, undulating motions of a cat, evinced this peculiarity. Imagine a gown fitting tightly to a form rounded and polished as marble, and we must agree that Miss Dimpleton could easily dispense with the accessory to the dress of which we have spoken. The band of a small apron of dark green levantine formed a girdle round a waist which might have been spanned with your two hands.

[Illustration: THE ROTUNDA]

Supposing herself to be quite alone (for Rudolph still remained at the door motionless and unperceived), Miss Dimpleton, after having smoothed the bands of her hair with her small white hand, placed her little foot upon a chair, and stooped down to tighten her boot-lace. This attitude disclosed to Rudolph a snow-white cotton stocking, and half of a beautifully formed leg.

After this detailed account we may conclude that Miss Dimpleton had put on her prettiest cap and apron, to do honor to her neighbor on their visit to the Temple. The person of the pretended merchant's clerk was quite to her taste: his face, benevolent, proud, and noble, pleased her greatly: and then he had shown so much compassion toward the poor Morels, in giving up his room to them, that, thanks to his kindness of heart, and perhaps also to his good looks, Rudolph had made great steps in the confidence of the grisette, who, according to her ideas of the necessity of reciprocal obligations imposed on neighbors, esteemed herself fortunate that Rudolph had succeeded the commission-traveler, Cabrion, and Francois Germain; for she had begun to feel that the next room had been too long empty, and she feared, above all, that it would not be agreeably occupied.

Rudolph took advantage of his being unperceived, to throw a curious look around this room, which he found deserved more praise than Mrs. Pipelet had given to the extreme neatness of Miss Dimpleton's humble home. Nothing could be gayer or better arranged than this little room. A gray paper, with green flowers, covered the walls; the red-waxed floor shone like a mirror; a saucepan of white earthenware was on the hob, where was also arranged a small quantity of wood, cut so fine and small that you could well compare each piece to a large match. Upon the stone mantelpiece, representing gray marble, were placed for ornament two common flower-pots, painted an emerald green; a little wooden stand held a silver watch, which served in lieu of a clock. On one side shone a brass candle-stick, bright as gold, ornamented with an end of wax candle; on the other side, was one of those lamps formed of a cylinder, with a tin reflector, mounted upon a steel stem, with a leaden stand. A tolerably large glass, in a frame of black wood, surmounted the mantel.

Curtains of green and gray chintz, bordered with worsted galloon, cut out and arranged by Miss Dimpleton, and placed on slight rods of black iron, draperied the windows; and the bed was covered with a quilt of the same make and material. Two glass-fronted cupboards, painted white and varnished, were placed each side of the recess; no doubt containing the household utensils—the portable stove, the broom, etc., etc.; for none of these necessaries destroyed the harmonious arrangement of the room.

A walnut chest of drawers, beautifully grained and well polished, four chairs of the same wood, a large table with one of those green cloth covers sometimes seen in country cottages, a straw-bottom armchair, with a footstool—such was the unpretending furniture. There was, too, in the recess in one of the windows, the cage of the two canaries, faithful companions of Miss Dimpleton. By one of those notable inventions which arise only in the minds of poor people, the cage was set in the middle of a large chest, a foot in depth, upon the table: this chest, which Miss Dimpleton called the garden of her birds, was filled with earth, covered with moss during the winter, and in the spring with turf and flowers. Rudolph gazed into this apartment with interest and curiosity; he perfectly comprehended the joyous humor of this young girl; he pictured the silence disturbed by the warbling birds, and the singing of Miss Dimpleton. In the summer, doubtless, she worked near the open window, half hidden by a verdant curtain of sweet pea, nasturtium, and blue and white morning-glories; in the winter, she sat by the side of the stove, enlivened by the soft light of her lamp.

* * * * * * *

Rudolph was thus far in these reflections, when, looking mechanically at the door, he noticed a strong bolt—a bolt that would not have been out of place on the door of a prison. This bolt caused him to reflect. It had two meanings, two distinct uses: to shut the door upon lovers within—to shut the door against lovers without. One of these uses would utterly contradict the assertions of Mrs. Pipelet— the other would confirm them. Rudolph had just arrived at these conclusions, when Miss Dimpleton, turning her head, perceived him, and, without changing her position, said: "What, neighbor! there you are then!" Instantly the pretty leg disappeared under the ample skirt of the currant-colored gown, and Miss Dimpleton added: "Caught you, Cunning!"

"I am here, admiring in silence."

"And what do you admire, neighbor?"

"This pretty little room, for you are lodged like a queen."

"Nay, you see, this is my enjoyment. I seldom go out; so at least I may please myself at home."

"But I do not find fault. What tasteful curtains! and the drawers—as good as mahogany. You must have spent heaps of money here."

"Oh, pray don't remind me of it! I had four hundred and twenty-six francs when I left prison, and almost all is gone."

"When you left prison?"

"Yes; it is quite a story. But you do not, I hope, think I was in prison for any crime?"

"Certainly not; but how was it?"

"After the cholera, I found myself alone in the world; I was then, I believe, about ten years of age."

"Until that time, who had taken care of you?"

"Oh, very good people; but they died of the cholera (here the large black eyes became tearful); the little they left was sold to discharge two or three small debts, and I found that no one would shelter me. Not knowing what to do I went to the guard-house, opposite where I had resided, and said to the sentinel: 'Soldier, my parents are dead, and I do not know where to go. What must I do?' The sub-officer came and took me to the magistrate, who sent me to prison as a vagabond, which I was allowed to quit at sixteen years of age."

"But your parents?"

"I do not know who was my father; I was six years old when I lost my mother, who had taken me from the Foundling Hospital, where she had been compelled at first to place me. The kind people of whom I have spoken lived in our house; they had no children, and seeing me an orphan, took care of me."

"And how did they live? What was their condition in life?"

"Papa Cretu, so I always called him, was a house-painter, and the female who lived with him worked at her needle."

"Then they were tolerably well off?"

"Oh, as well off as most people in their station. Though not married, they called each other husband and wife. They had their ups and downs; to-day in abundance, if there was plenty of work; to-morrow straitened, if there was not any; but that did not prevent them from being contented and gay (at this remembrance Miss Dimpleton's face brightened). There was nowhere near a house like it—always cheerful, always singing; and with all that, good and kind beyond belief! What was theirs, was for others also. Mamma Cretu was a plump body of thirty, clean as a new penny, lively as an eel, merry as a finch. Her husband was a regular jolly old King Cole; he had a large nose, a large mouth, always a paper cap on his head, and a face so droll—oh, so droll, that you could not look at him without laughing! When he returned home after work he did nothing but sing, make faces, and gambol like a child. He made me dance, and jump upon his knees; he played with me as if he were my own age, and his wife entirely spoilt me. Both required of me but one thing—to be good-humored; and in that, thank God! I never disappointed them; so they baptized me, Dimpleton (not Simpleton, neighbor!) and the cap fitted. As to gayety, they set me the example: never did I see them sad. If they uttered reproaches at all, it was the wife said to her husband: 'Stop, Cretu, you make me laugh too much!' or he said to her 'Hold your tongue, Ramonette (I do not know why he called her Ramonette), you will make me ill, you are so funny!' And as for me, I laughed to see them laugh. That's how I was brought up, and how my character was formed; I trust I have profited by it!"

"To perfection, neighbor! Then they never quarreled?"

"Never; oh, the biggest kind of never! Sunday, Monday, sometimes Tuesday, they had, as they called it, an outing, and took me always with them. Papa Cretu was a very good workman; when employed, he could earn what he pleased, and so could his wife too. As soon as they had sufficient for the Sunday and Monday, and could live till then, well or ill, they were satisfied. After that if they were on short allowance, they were still contented. I remember that when we had only bread and water, Papa Cretu used to take out of his library—"

"He had a library?"

"So he called a little chest, where he put his collections of new songs: for he bought all the new songs, and knew them all. When there was nothing in the house but bread, he would take from his library an old cookery-book, and say to us: 'Let us see what we will have to eat today—this or that?' and he would read to us a list of many good things. Each chose their dish. Papa Cretu would then take an empty stewpan, and with the drollest manner, and the funniest jests in the world, pretend to put in all the ingredients necessary to make a good stew, and seemed to pour it into a plate, also empty, which he would place on the table, always with grimaces that made us hold our sides, then taking his book again, he would read, for example, the receipt for a good fricassee of chicken that we had chosen, and that made our mouths water; we then eat our bread (while he read) laughing like so many mad things."

"And were they in debt?"

"Not at all! As long as they had money they feasted: when they had none they dined on water-color as Papa Cretu called it."

"And did they not think of the future?"

"Oh, yes, they thought of it; but then our present and future were like Sunday and Monday—summer we spent gayly and happily outside the City, the winter we got over at home."

"Since these poor people agreed so well together, why did they not marry?"

"One of their friends once asked the same question, before me."

"Well?"

"They answered: 'If we should ever have children, we will marry; but we are very well as we are. What is the good of compelling us to do that which we now do willingly? Besides, it is expensive, and we have no money to spare.' But see how I am gossiping! as I always do on the subject of those good people, who were so kind to me, for I never tire of speaking of them. Here, neighbor, be civil enough to take my shawl, which is on the bed, and fasten it under the collar of my dress with this large pin, and we will then go, for we shall be some time selecting all you wish to purchase for the Morels."

Rudolph hastened to obey the instructions; he took from the bed a large plaid shawl, and carefully arranged it on his neighbor's lovely shoulders.

"Now then, lift up the collar a little, press the dress and shawl close together and stick in the pin. Above all, take care not to prick me."

The prince executed the given instructions with zealous nicety; then he observed, smilingly, to the grisette, "Oh, Miss Dimpleton, I must not be your femme de chambre—there is danger in it!"

"Yes, yes," answer Miss Dimpleton, gayly, "there is great danger of my having a pin run into me! But now," added she, after they had left the room and locked the door after them; "here, neighbor, take the key; it is so very heavy, that I always fear it will tear my pocket. It is quite a pistol for size!" And then she laughed merrily.

Rudolph accordingly took possession of an enormous key—such a one as is sometimes seen in those allegorical representations where the vanquished offer the keys of their cities to the conquerors. Although Rudolph believed himself sufficiently changed by years not to be recognized by Polidori, he yet pulled up the collar of his coat before passing the door of the quack Bradamanti.

"Neighbor, don't forget to tell M. Pipelet that some goods will be brought here, which must be taken to your room," said Miss Dimpleton.

"You are right, neighbor; we will step into the lodge as we pass by."

Pipelet, his everlasting immense hat, as usual, on his head, dressed in his green coat, was sitting gravely before a table, on which were spread pieces of leather and fragments of old shoes; he was occupied in putting a new sole to a boot, which he did with that serious and meditative air which characterized all his doings. Anastasia was absent from the lodge.

"Well, M. Pipelet," said Miss Dimpleton, "I trust things will be better now! Thanks to my neighbor, the poor Morels were rescued from trouble just as those heartless bailiffs were about to drag the unhappy man to prison."

"Oh! these bailiffs are really without hearts, or manners either, mademoiselle," added Pipelet, in an angry voice, flourishing the boot he was repairing, in which he had thrust his left hand and arm.

"No! I do not fear to repeat, in the face of heaven and man, that they are without manners; they took advantage of the darkness of the staircase to make rude remarks on my wife's very person. On hearing the cries of her offended modesty, in spite of myself, I yielded to the impulse of my temper. I do not disguise it, my first movement was to remain perfectly motionless."

"But afterward you followed them, I hope, M. Pipelet?" said Miss
Dimpleton, who had some trouble to preserve a serious air.

"I thought of it," answered Pipelet, with a deep sigh; "but when those shameless ruffians passed before my door, my blood rose, and I could not hinder myself from putting my hand before my eyes, to hide the monsters from my sight! But that does not surprise me; I knew something unfortunate would happen to me to-day, for I dreamed—last night—of Monster Cabrion!"

Miss Dimpleton smiled, as Pipelet's painful sighs were mingled with the taps of the hammer, which he vigorously applied to the sole of the old boot.

"You truly acted the part of a wise man, my dear M. Pipelet, that of despising offenses, and holding it beneath you to revenge them. But let us forget these miserable bailiffs. Will you be kind enough to do me a favor?" asked Rudolph.

"Man is born to assist his fellow-man," replied Pipelet, in a sententious and melancholy tone: "and more particularly so when his fellow-man is so good a lodger as yourself."

"It will be necessary to take up to my room different things which will be brought here presently for the Morels."

"Be assured I will take charge of them," replied Pipelet, "and faithfully carry out your wishes."

"And afterward," said Rudolph, sadly, "you must obtain a priest to watch by the little girl the Morels have lost in the night. Go and register her death, and order a decent funeral. Here is money; spare not, for Morel's benefactress, whose mere agent I am, wishes all to go well."

"Make your mind quite easy, sir," replied Pipelet; "directly my wife comes back, I will go to the mayor, the church, and the ham-and-beef shop—to the church for the soul of the dead, to the cook-shop for the body of the living," added Pipelet, philosophically and poetically. "You may consider it done—already done, in both cases, my good sir."

At the entrance, Rudolph and Miss Dimpleton found themselves face to face with Anastasia, who had returned from market, bearing a heavy basket of provisions.

"Well done!" exclaimed the portress, looking at them both with a knowing and significant air; "already arm-in-arm! That's your sort! Young people will be young people—and where's the harm? To a pretty lass, a handsome lad! If you don't enjoy yourselves while young, you will find it difficult to do so when you get old! My poor dear Alfred and I, for instance, when we were young, didn't we go the pace—But now, oh, dear! oh, dear!—Well, never mind; go along, my dears, and make yourselves happy while you can. Love forever!" The old woman disappeared in the darkness of the alley, calling out, "Alfred, do not grumble, old darling. Here is 'Stasie who brings you good things—rare dainties!"

The young couple had left the house.

* * * * * * *

To the mind of Rudolph, for Miss Dimpleton was too little prone to mournful impressions to long reflect on the matter, the troubles of the Morels had ceased; but in the grim reality, a calamity, ten fold severer than their direst poverty, was gathering and forming nearer them, ready to burst upon their heads almost before the gay young couple would return from their stroll. What this great evil was, and what fate befalls other characters yet to be introduced, will presently be revealed, in shadow and by sunshine.

The Slasher, the Schoolmaster, the Screech-Owl, Hoppy, and the other wretches whose misdeeds blacken these pages, form the foil; while Fleur-de-Marie, Clemence d'Harville, Miss Dimpleton, and Mrs. George are the gems which will be seen to shed their luster and charm over the no less interesting pages of the Second Division of this work, entitled, "Part Second: NOON."