the book-keeping, the correspondence, the retail business, the
orders, and her housekeeping, so as not to sit idle, that is enough. At
seven o'clock, when the shop is shut, I shall take my pleasures, go to
the play, and into company.--But you are not listening to me."

"Yes, indeed, Monsieur Joseph. What do you think of painting? That is a
fine calling."

"Yes. I know a master house-painter, Monsieur Lourdois. He is
well-to-do."

Thus conversing, the family reached the Church of Saint-Leu. There
Madame Guillaume reasserted her rights, and, for the first time, placed
Augustine next herself, Virginie taking her place on the fourth chair,
next to Lebas. During the sermon all went well between Augustine and
Theodore, who, standing behind a pillar, worshiped his Madonna with
fervent devotion; but at the elevation of the Host, Madame Guillaume
discovered, rather late, that her daughter Augustine was holding her
prayer-book upside down. She was about to speak to her strongly, when,
lowering her veil, she interrupted her own devotions to look in the
direction where her daughter's eyes found attraction. By the help of her
spectacles she saw the young artist, whose fashionable elegance seemed
to proclaim him a cavalry officer on leave rather than a tradesman of
the neighborhood. It is difficult to conceive of the state of violent
agitation in which Madame Guillaume found herself--she, who flattered
herself on having brought up her daughters to perfection--on discovering
in Augustine a clandestine passion of which her prudery and ignorance
exaggerated the perils. She believed her daughter to be cankered to the
core.

"Hold your book right way up, miss," she muttered in a low voice,
tremulous with wrath. She snatched away the tell-tale prayer-book and
returned it with the letter-press right way up. "Do not allow your
eyes to look anywhere but at your prayers," she added, "or I shall
have something to say to you. Your father and I will talk to you after
church."

These words came like a thunderbolt on poor Augustine. She felt faint;
but, torn between the distress she felt and the dread of causing a
commotion in church she bravely concealed her anguish. It was, however,
easy to discern the stormy state of her soul from the trembling of her
prayer-book, and the tears which dropped on every page she turned. From
the furious glare shot at him by Madame Guillaume the artist saw the
peril into which his love affair had fallen; he w