the
world, and knew too well the best Parisian society, all its shades of
manner and dialect, not to understand that in the mother of his new
pupil he beheld a representative of an especial class.

The self-possession with which she entered his office,--self-possession
too apparent not to be forced,--her way of seating herself, her uneasy
laugh, and above all, the overwhelming flood of words with which she
sought to conceal a certain embarrassment, all created in the mind of
the priest a vague distrust. Unhappily, in Paris the circles are so
mixed, the community of pleasures and similarity of toilets have so
narrowed the line of demarcation between fashionable women of good and
bad society, that the most experienced may at times be deceived, and
this is the reason that the priest regarded this woman with so much
attention. The principal difficulty in arriving at a decision arose from
the unconnected style of her conversation; but the embarrassed air of
the mother when he asked for the other name of the child, settled the
question in his mind.

She colored, hesitated. "True," she said; "excuse me; I have not yet
presented myself. What could I have been thinking of?" and drawing a
small, highly-perfumed case from her pocket, she took from it a card, on
which, in long letters, was to be read the insignificant name--

_Ida de Barnacy_

Over the face of the priest flashed a singular smile.

"Is this the child's name?" he asked.

The question was almost an impertinence. The lady understood him, and
concealed her embarrassment under an assumption of great dignity.

"Certainly, sir, certainly."

"Ah!" said the priest, gravely.

It was he now who found it difficult to express what he wished to say.
He rolled the card between his fingers with a little movement of the
lips natural to a man who measures the weight and effect of the words he
is about to speak.

Suddenly he arose from his chair, and approaching one of the large
windows that looked on a garden planted with fine trees, and reddened
by the wintry sun, tapped lightly on the glass. A black silhouette was
drawn on the window, and a young priest appeared immediately within the
room.

"Duffieux," said the Superior, "take this child out to walk with you.
Show him our church and our hot-houses; he is tired of us, poor little
man!"

Jack supposed that he was sent out to walk so that he might be spared
the pain of saying good-bye to his mother, and his terr