in the world, that grandmotherly title bestowed upon such
attractive youth. Every one in the household thought as he did, and the
other Joyeuse girls, who ran to their father and grouped themselves
about him somewhat as in the show-case on the ground-floor, and the old
servant, who brought and placed upon the table in the salon, whither
they had adjourned, a magnificent tea-service, a relic of the former
splendor of the establishment, all called the girl "Grandmamma," nor
did she once seem to be annoyed by it, for the influence of that
blessed name imparted to the affection of them all a touch of deference
that flattered her and gave to her imaginary authority a singular
attractiveness, as of a protecting hand.

It may have been because of that title, which he had learned to cherish
in his infancy, but de Gery found an indescribable fascination in the
girl. It did not resemble the sudden blow he had received from another,
full in the heart, the perturbation mingled with a longing to fly, to
escape an obsession, and the persistent melancholy peculiar to the day
after a fete, extinguished candles, refrains that have died away,
perfumes vanished in the darkness. No, in the presence of that young
girl, as she stood looking over the family table, making sure that
nothing was lacking, letting her loving, sparkling eyes rest upon her
children, her little children, he was assailed by a temptation to know
her, to be to her as an old friend, to confide to her things that he
confessed to none but himself; and when she offered him his cup, with
no worldly airs, no society affectations, he would have liked to say
like the others a "Thanks, Grandmamma," in which he might put his whole
heart.

Suddenly a cheery, vigorous knock made everybody jump.

"Ah! there's Monsieur Andre. Quick, Elise, a cup. Yaia, the little
cakes." Meanwhile, Mademoiselle Henriette, the third of the Joyeuse
girls,--who had inherited from her mother, born Saint-Amand, a certain
worldly side,--in view of the crowded condition of the salons that
evening, rushed to light the two candles on the piano.

"My fifth act is done," cried the newcomer, as he entered the room; then
he stopped short. "Ah! excuse me," and his face took on a discomfited
expression at sight of the stranger. M. Joyeuse introduced them to
each other: "Monsieur Paul de Gery--Monsieur Andre Maranne,"--not
without a certain solemnity of manner. He remembered his wife's
receptions long ago; and t