ld do to make out a smooth, rose-tinted little foot which,
not being sleepy, still lingered outside and fidgeted with the silken
covering.

Delightful souvenir of my lively youth! My pen splutters, my paper seems
to blush to the color of that used by the orange-sellers. I believe I
have said too much.

I learned some time afterward that my friend De K. was about to be
married, and, singularly enough, was going to wed this beautiful
creature with whom I was so well acquainted.

"A charming woman!" I exclaimed one day.

"You know her, then?" said someone.

"I? No, not the least in the world."

"But?"

"Yes-no, let me see; I have seen her once at high mass."

"She is not very pretty," some one remarked to me.

"No, not her face," I rejoined, and added to myself, "No, not her face,
but all the rest!"

It is none the less true that for some time past this secret has been
oppressing me, and, though I decided to-day to reveal it to you, it was
because it seems to me that to do so would quiet my conscience.

But, for Heaven's sake, let me entreat you, do not noise abroad the
affair!

CHAPTER IV. SOUVENIRS OF LENT

The faithful are flocking up the steps of the temple; spring toilettes
already glitter in the sun; trains sweep the dust with their long
flowing folds; feathers and ribbons flutter; the bell chimes solemnly,
while carriages keep arriving at a trot, depositing upon the pavement
all that is most pious and most noble in the Faubourg, then draw up in
line at the farther end of the square.

Be quick, elbow your way through the crowd if you want a good place;
the Abbe Gelon preaches to-day on abstinence, and when the Abbe Gelon
preaches it is as if Patti were singing.

Enter Madame, pushes the triple door, which recloses heavily, brushes
with rapid fingers the holywater sprinkler which that pious old man
holds out, and carefully makes a graceful little sign of the cross so as
not to spot her ribbons.

Do you hear these discreet and aristocratic whisperings?

"Good morning, my dear."

"Good morning, dear. It is always on abstinence that he preaches, is it
not? Have you a seat?"

"Yes, yes, come with me. You have got on your famous bonnet, I see?"

"Yes; do you like it? It is a little showy, is it not? What a multitude
of people! Where is your husband?"

"Showy! Oh, no, it is splendid. My husband is in the churchwarden's pew;
he left before me; he is becoming a fanatic--he speaks of lunching