nd the economy they oblige, and I could see that she was
glad for her little customer not to be altogether disappointed of his
purchase.

[Illustration]

She chose carefully the prettiest and freshest of the violet bunches,
wrapped an extra leaf or two round the stalks to keep them cool, and
handing the little bouquet to the boy, smilingly received from him the
coppers till now tightly clasped in his hand.

And with all the brightness back in his face again, the little fellow
bounded forward to rejoin his grandfather, as light-hearted and
light-footed as a young chamois.

I crossed the road and walked on. The little incident had interested and
pleased me. I could not help wondering for whom the flowers were
intended--a sick mother or grandmother perhaps. The child was not
improbably an orphan, seeing that he was in the care of a grandparent.
And I went on picturing to myself the simple thrifty home to which the
pair were by this time wending their way, little thinking that I should
ever see either of them again.

[Illustration]

I was by now in one of the handsome side streets, running parallel with
the great avenue. It was quieter here; there were fewer carriages or
foot passengers, so that on the wide road, even a small group was
plainly seen, and happening to glance backwards, I saw a sad little
procession making its way slowly along. Two men, dressed in black, were
carrying a little coffin--no heavy burden, it was plain--yet heavy was
the sorrow of the two mourners following close behind. It was but the
funeral of a tiny child, a baby, or scarce more than a baby to judge by
the size of the coffin, "the only one" of the poor father and mother
alone in their grief, who walked behind. They were of the very poor
class of Paris working people, though decently clad, as is almost always
the case in France, but too poor to have got mourning for themselves,
even for the funeral of their child. The woman, it is true, had a black
skirt, but over it she wore, perhaps to conceal its shabbiness, a clean
checked cotton apron, and the poor father had no attempt at mourning,
except a little band of rusty black fastened round the left sleeve of
his blue working blouse. They were both weeping, the mother openly, her
poor eyes swollen and red as if with many hours of tears, the husband
trying to keep calm, as he from time to time wiped his weather beaten
cheeks with his sleeve. Their poverty was shown in another way; there
was