d at this mother hen, very big,
very round, with a face as full as the moon framed in an enormous,
beribboned hat.

"She was puffing, out of breath from having been forced to walk quickly.
The children began to chatter. I unfolded my paper and began to read.

"We had just passed Asnieres, when my neighbor suddenly turned to me and
said:

"'Excuse me, sir, but are you not Monsieur Garnier?'

"'Yes, madame.'

"Then she began to laugh, the pleased laugh of a good woman; and yet it
was sad.

"'You do not seem to recognize me.'

"I hesitated. It seemed to me that I had seen that face somewhere; but
where? when? I answered:

"'Yes--and no. I certainly know you, and yet I cannot recall your name.'

"She blushed a little:

"'Madame Julie Lefevre.'

"Never had I received such a shock. In a second it seemed to me as
though it were all over with me! I felt that a veil had been torn
from my eyes and that I was going to make a horrible and heartrending
discovery.

"So that was she! That big, fat, common woman, she! She had become the
mother of these four girls since I had last her. And these little beings
surprised me as much as their mother. They were part of her; they
were big girls, and already had a place in life. Whereas she no longer
counted, she, that marvel of dainty and charming gracefulness. It seemed
to me that I had seen her but yesterday, and this is how I found her
again! Was it possible? A poignant grief seized my heart; and also a
revolt against nature herself, an unreasoning indignation against this
brutal, nefarious act of destruction.

"I looked at her, bewildered. Then I took her hand in mine, and tears
came to my eyes. I wept for her lost youth. For I did not know this fat
lady.

"She was also excited, and stammered:

"'I am greatly changed, am I not? What can you expect--everything has
its time! You see, I have become a mother, nothing but a good mother.
Farewell to the rest, that is over. Oh! I never expected you to
recognize me if we met. You, too, have changed. It took me quite a while
to be sure that I was not mistaken. Your hair is all white. Just think!
Twelve years ago! Twelve years! My oldest girl is already ten.'

"I looked at the child. And I recognized in her something of her
mother's old charm, but something as yet unformed, something which
promised for the future. And life seemed to me as swift as a passing
train.

"We had reached. Maisons-Laffitte. I kissed my old friend's