ns, his coat thrown back from his loyal breast,
indulges in his heartiest, most engaging smile; but a meaning furrow
lies across his brow. He is anxious concerning the surprises that the
establishment may have in store, for he knows its demoralized
condition. If only Pondevez has taken proper precautions! It begins
well, however. The somewhat theatrical aspect of the approach to the
house, the white fleeces gambolling among the shrubbery, have enchanted
M. de La Perriere, who, with his innocent eyes, his straggling white
beard and the constant nodding of his head, is not himself unlike a
goat escaped from its tether.

"First of all, messieurs, the most important room in the house, the
Nursery," says the manager, opening a massive door at the end of the
reception-room. The gentlemen follow him, descend a few steps and find
themselves in an enormous basement room, with tiled floor, formerly the
kitchen of the chateau. The thing that impresses one on entering is a
huge, high fireplace of the old pattern, in red brick, with two stone
benches facing each other under the mantel, and the singer's crest--an
immense lyre with a roll of music--carved on the monumental pediment.
The effect was striking; but there came from it a terrible blast of
air, which, added to the cold of the floor, to the pale light falling
through the windows on a level with the ground, made one shudder for
the well-being of the children. What would you have? They were obliged
to use that unhealthy apartment for the Nursery because of the
capricious, country-bred nurses who were accustomed to the
unconstrained manners of the stable; one had only to see the pools of
milk, the great reddish spots drying on the floor, to inhale the acrid
odor that assailed your nostrils as you entered, mingled with whey and
moist hair and many other things, to be convinced of that absolute
necessity.

The dark walls of the room were so high that at first the visitors
thought that the Nursery was deserted. They distinguished, however, at
the farther end, a bleating, whining, restless group. Two countrywomen,
with surly, brutish, dirty faces, two "dry-nurses," who well deserved
their name, were sitting on mats with their nurslings in their arms,
each having a large goat before her, with legs apart and distended
udders. The manager seemed to be agreeably surprised:

"On my word, messieurs, this is a lucky chance. Two of our children are
having a little lunch. We will see how