ence of
her strange morning costume; no doubt, for want of any other head-dress,
on her beautiful light hair, smooth and well-combed, was stuck jauntily a
foraging-cap, borrowed from her masquerading costume. Nothing could be
more sprightly than that face, seventeen years old, rosy, fresh, dimpled,
and brilliantly lighted up by a pair of gay, sparkling blue eyes. Rose
Pompon was so closely enveloped from the neck to the feet in a red and
green plaid cloak, rather faded, that one could guess the cause of her
modest embarrassment. Her naked feet, so white that one could not tell if
she wore stockings or not, were slipped into little morocco shoes, with
plated buckles. It was easy to perceive that her cloak concealed some
article which she held in her hand.

"Good-day, Rose-Pompon," said Mother Arsene with a kindly air; "you are
early this morning. Had you no dance last night?"

"Don't talk of it, Mother Arsene; I had no heart to dance. Poor
Cephyse--the Bacchanal Queen--has done nothing but cry all night. She
cannot console herself, that her lover should be in prison."

"Now, look here, my girl," said the old woman, "I must speak to you about
your friend Cephyse. You won't be angry?"

"Am I ever angry?" said Rose-Pompon, shrugging her shoulders.

"Don't you think that M. Philemon will scold me on his return?"

"Scold you! what for?"

"Because of his rooms, that you occupy."

"Why, Mother Arsene, did not Philemon tell you, that, in his absence, I
was to be as much mistress of his two rooms as I am of himself?"

"I do not speak of you, but of your friend Cephyse, whom you have also
brought to occupy M. Philemon's lodgings."

"And where would she have gone without me, my good Mother Arsene? Since
her lover was arrested, she has not dared to return home, because she
owes ever so many quarters. Seeing her troubles. I said to her: 'Come,
lodge at Philemon's. When he returns, we must find another place for
you.'"

"Well, little lovey--if you only assure me that M. Philemon will not be
angry--"

"Angry! for what? That we spoil his things? A fine set of things he has
to spoil! I broke his last cup yesterday--and am forced to fetch the milk
in this comic concern."

So saying, laughing with all her might, Rose-Pompon drew her pretty
little white arm from under her cloak, and presented to Mother Arsene one
of those champagne glasses of colossal capacity, which hold about a
bottle.

"Oh, dear!" said the greengrocer i