rish duties. The mutilated Virgin on
their corner pillar never failed (after 1799) to be wreathed with holly
at Easter. In the summer season she was feted with bouquets kept fresh
in tumblers of blue glass; this was particularly the case after
the birth of Veronique. On the days of the processions the Sauviats
scrupulously hung their house with sheets covered with flowers, and
contributed money to the erection and adornment of the altar, which was
the pride and glory of the whole square.

Veronique Sauviat was, therefore, brought up in a Christian manner. From
the time she was seven years old she was taught by a Gray sister from
Auvergne to whom the Sauviats had done some kindness in former times.
Both husband and wife were obliging when the matter did not affect their
pockets or consume their time,--like all poor folk who are cordially
ready to be serviceable to others in their own way. The Gray sister
taught Veronique to read and write; she also taught her the history of
the people of God, the catechism, the Old and the New Testaments, and
a very little arithmetic. That was all; the worthy sister thought it
enough; it was in fact too much.

At nine years of age Veronique surprised the whole neighborhood with her
beauty. Every one admired her face, which promised much to the pencil of
artists who are always seeking a noble ideal. She was called "the Little
Virgin" and showed signs already of a fine figure and great delicacy of
complexion. Her Madonna-like face--for the popular voice had well named
her--was surrounded by a wealth of fair hair, which brought out the
purity of her features. Whoever has seen the sublime Virgin of Titian
in his great picture of the "Presentation" at Venice, will know that
Veronique was in her girlhood,--the same ingenuous candor, the same
seraphic astonishment in her eyes, the same simple yet noble attitude,
the same majesty of childhood in her demeanor.

At eleven years of age she had the small-pox, and owed her life to the
care of Soeur Marthe. During the two months that their child was in
danger the Sauviats betrayed to the whole community the depth of their
tenderness. Sauviat no longer went about the country to sales; he stayed
in the shop, going upstairs and down to his daughter's room, sitting up
with her every night in company with his wife. His silent anguish seemed
so great that no one dared to speak to him; his neighbors looked at
him with compassion, but they only asked news o