orite among the men; they teased, and
played practical jokes upon him. Sunday was his only day of rest and
relaxation. Then, with one of Dr. Rivals' books, Jack sought a quiet
nook on the bank of the river. He had found a deep fissure in the rocks,
where he sat quite concealed from view, his book open on his knee, the
rush, the magic, and the extent of the water before him. The distant
church-bells rang out praises to the Lord, and all was rest and peace.
Occasionally a vessel drifted past, and from afar came the laughter of
children at play.

He read, but his studies were often too deep for him, and he would lift
his eyes from the pages, and listen dreamily to the soft lapping of the
water on the pebbles of the shore, while his thoughts wandered to his
mother and his little friend.

At last autumnal rains came, and then the child passed his Sundays at
the Rondics, who were all very kind to him, Zenaide in particular. The
old man felt a certain contempt for Jack's physical delicacy, and said
the boy stunted his growth by his devotion to books, but "he was a good
little fellow all the same!" In reality, old Rondic felt a great
respect for Jack's attainments, his own being of the most superficial
description. He could read and write, to be sure, but that was all; and
since he had married the second Madame Rondic, he had become painfully
conscious of his deficiencies. His wife was the daughter of a
subordinate artillery officer, the belle and beauty of a small town.
She was well brought up,--one of a numerous family, where each took
her share of toil and economy. She accepted Rondic, notwithstanding the
disparity of years and his lack of education, and entertained for her
husband the greatest possible affection. He adored his wife, and would
make any sacrifice for her happiness or her gratification. He thought
her prettier than any of the wives of his friends,--who were all, in
fact, stout Breton peasants, more occupied with their household cares
than with anything else. Clarisse had a certain air about her, and
dressed and arranged her hair in a way that offered the greatest
contrast to the monastic aspect of the women of the country, who covered
their hair with thick folds of linen, and concealed their figures with
the clumsy fullness of their skirts.

His house, too, was different from those about him. Behind the full
white curtains stood a pot of flowers, sweet basil or gillyflowers,
and the furniture was carefully