black hair, which he spread out upon his hand.

"Did you pull this hair from Titania's mane?" asked Gerfaut, as he drew
through his fingers the more glossy than silky lock, which he ridiculed
by this ironical supposition.

"They might be softer, I admit," replied Marillac negligently; and he
examined the lock submitted to this merciless criticism as if it were
simply a piece of goods, of the fineness of whose texture he wished to
assure himself.

"You will admit at least that the color is beautiful, and the quantity
makes up for the quality. Upon my word, this poor Reine has given me
enough to make a pacha's banner. Provincial and primitive simplicity! I
know of one woman in particular who never gave an adorer more than seven
of her hairs; and yet, at the end of three years, this cautious beauty
was obliged to wear a false front. All her hair had disappeared.

"Are you like me, Octave? The first thing I ask for is one of these
locks. Women rather like this sort of childishness, and when they have
granted you that, it is a snare spread for them which catches them."

Marillac took the long, dark tress and held it near the candle; but
his movement was so poorly calculated that the hair caught fire and was
instantly destroyed.

"A bad sign," exclaimed Gerfaut, who could not help laughing at his
friend's dismayed look.

"This is a day of autos-de-fe," said the artist, dropping into a chair;
"but bah! small loss; if Reine asks to see this lock, I will tell her
that I destroyed it with kisses. That always flatters them, and I am
sure it will please this little field-flower. It is a fact that she has
cheeks like rosy apples! On my way back I thought of a vaudeville that
I should like to write about this. Only I should lay the scene in
Switzerland and I should call the young woman Betty or Kettly instead of
Reine, a name ending in 'Y' which would rhyme with Rutly, on account
of local peculiarities. Will you join in it? I have almost finished the
scenario. First scene--Upon the rising of the curtain, harvesters are
discovered--"

"Will you do me the favor of going to bed?" interrupted Gerfaut.

"Chorus of harvesters:

Deja l'aurore
Qui se colore--"

"If you do not leave me alone, I will throw the contents of this
water-pitcher at your head."

"I never have seen you in such a surly temper. It looks indeed as if
your divinity had treated you cruelly."

"She has treated me shamefully!" excl