it, and looked wistfully at the other
graves around. "It is the innocent custom of the people," said Mr. The
Englishman, with hesitation. "I think I should like to do it. No one
sees."

Careful not to wake Bebelle as he went, he repaired to the lodge where
such little tokens of remembrance were sold, and bought two wreaths. One,
blue and white and glistening silver, "To my friend;" one of a soberer
red and black and yellow, "To my friend." With these he went back to the
grave, and so down on one knee again. Touching the child's lips with the
brighter wreath, he guided her hand to hang it on the Cross; then hung
his own wreath there. After all, the wreaths were not far out of keeping
with the little garden. To my friend. To my friend.

Mr. The Englishman took it very ill when he looked round a street corner
into the Great Place, carrying Bebelle in his arms, that old Mutuel
should be there airing his red ribbon. He took a world of pains to dodge
the worthy Mutuel, and devoted a surprising amount of time and trouble to
skulking into his own lodging like a man pursued by Justice. Safely
arrived there at last, he made Bebelle's toilet with as accurate a
remembrance as he could bring to bear upon that work of the way in which
he had often seen the poor Corporal make it, and having given her to eat
and drink, laid her down on his own bed. Then he slipped out into the
barber's shop, and after a brief interview with the barber's wife, and a
brief recourse to his purse and card-case, came back again with the whole
of Bebelle's personal property in such a very little bundle that it was
quite lost under his arm.

As it was irreconcilable with his whole course and character that he
should carry Bebelle off in state, or receive any compliments or
congratulations on that feat, he devoted the next day to getting his two
portmanteaus out of the house by artfulness and stealth, and to
comporting himself in every particular as if he were going to run
away,--except, indeed, that he paid his few debts in the town, and
prepared a letter to leave for Madame Bouclet, enclosing a sufficient sum
of money in lieu of notice. A railway train would come through at
midnight, and by that train he would take away Bebelle to look for
Theophile in England and at his forgiven daughter's.

At midnight, on a moonlight night, Mr. The Englishman came creeping forth
like a harmless assassin, with Bebelle on his breast instead of a dagger.
Qui