as a broad iron
shelf securely fixed, on which four good-sized flower-pots were set
out in the sunshine. It was true that there were no flowers yet, but
the two plants of carnations were full of buds and had been very
carefully tended, a tiny rose-bush promised to bear three or four
blossoms before long, and the pot of basil was beginning to send up
curly green shoots. Opposite the window, and beyond the quiet street,
there was a walled garden, in which there were some orange and
mandarin trees.

Between the two bedrooms there was the sitting-room, which was a
little smaller than either, but quite big enough for two women.
Indeed, Madame Bernard ate her meals there all winter, because the
little dining-room at the back of the house was not so cheerful and
was much colder. An enlarged coloured photograph of the long-deceased
Captain Bernard, in the uniform worn by the French artillery at the
time of the Franco-Prussian War, hung on one of the walls, over an
upright piano; it had a black frame, and was decorated with a wreath
of everlasting daisies tied with a black bow. Underneath the portrait
a tiny holy-water basin of old Tyrolese pewter was fastened to the
wall. This Madame Bernard filled every year at Easter, when the parish
priest came to bless the rooms, and every year she renewed the wreath
on the anniversary of her husband's death; for she was a faithful soul
and practised such little rites with a sort of cheerful satisfaction
that was not exactly devout, but certainly had a religious source.
Captain Bernard had been a dashing fellow and there was no knowing
what his soul might not need in the place his widow vaguely described
as 'beyond' when she spoke of his presumable state, though in the case
of Angela's father, for instance, it was always 'heaven' or
'paradise.' Apparently Madame Bernard had the impression that her
husband's immortal part was undergoing some very necessary cure before
partaking of unmixed bliss.

'Military men have so many temptations, my dear,' she said to Angela,
thinking more of the deceased Captain than of being tactful,--'I mean,'
she said, correcting herself, 'in France.'

Angela was not afraid of temptation for Giovanni; rightly or wrongly,
she trusted that her love would be his shield against the wicked world
and her name his prayer in need, and she smiled at Madame Bernard's
speech. The big old parrot on his perch cocked his head.

'Especially the cavalry and artillery,' the go