silent, as if the noisy demonstrations of his
mother had shocked him, and made him ashamed of any manifestations on
his own part. He was seized with a sort of nervous spasm. His mother
took him in her arms. "No, no, dear child, I was only in jest; be
sensible, dear. What! must I rock my long-legged boy as if he were a
baby? No, little Jack, you never did me any harm. It is I who did wrong.
Come, do not weep any more. See, I am not crying."

And the strange creature, forgetful of her recent grief, laughed
gayly, that Jack too might laugh. It was one of the privileges of this
inconsequent nature never to retain impressions for any length of time.
Singularly enough, too, the tears she had just shed only seemed to add
new freshness and brilliancy to her youthful beauty, as a sudden shower
upon a dove's plumage seems to bring out new lustre without penetrating
below the surface.

"Where are we now?" said she, suddenly dropping the window that was
covered with mist. "At the Madeleine. How quickly we have come! We must
stop somewhere; at the pastry-cook's, I think. Dry your eyes, little
one, we will buy some meringues."

They alighted at the fashionable confectioner's, where there was a great
crowd. Rich furs and rustling silks crushed each other; and women's
faces with veils half lifted were reflected in the surrounding mirrors
which were set in gilt frames and cream-colored panels; glittering
glass, and a variety of cakes and dainties delighted the spectators.
Madame de Barancy and her child were much looked at. This charmed her,
and this small success following upon the mortification of the previous
hour, gave her an appetite. She called for a quantity of meringues and
nougat, and finished by a glass of wine. Jack followed her example, but
with more moderation, his great grief having filled his eyes with unshed
tears and his heart with suppressed sighs.

When they left the shop the weather was so fine, although cold, and the
flower-market of the Madeleine so fragrant with the sweet perfume of
violets, that Ida determined to dismiss the carriage and return on foot.
Briskly, and yet with a certain slowness of step, that indicated a woman
accustomed to admiration, she started on her walk, leading Jack by
the hand. The fresh air, the gay streets and attractive shops, quite
restored Ida's good-humor. Then suddenly, by what connection of ideas
I know not, she remembered a masqued ball to which she was going that
night, prece