orse
has won again'; and in our family circle we rejoice over your triumphs."

A flush tinged the cheek of Camors as he answered, quietly, "You are
really too good."

They walked a moment in silence over the gravel path bordered by grass,
before Lescande spoke again.

"And yourself, dear friend, I hope that you also are happy."

"I--happy!" Camors seemed a little astonished. "My happiness is simple
enough, but I believe it is unclouded. I rise in the morning, ride to the
Bois, thence to the club, go to the Bois again, and then back to the
club. If there is a first representation at any theatre, I wish to see
it. Thus, last evening they gave a new piece which was really exquisite.
There was a song in it, beginning:

'He was a woodpecker,
A little woodpecker,
A young woodpecker--'

and the chorus imitated the cry of the woodpecker! Well, it was charming,
and the whole of Paris will sing that song with delight for a year. I
also shall do like the whole of Paris, and I shall be happy."

"Good heavens! my friend," laughed Lescande, "and that suffices you for
happiness?"

"That and--the principles of 'eighty-nine," replied Camors, lighting a
fresh cigar from the old one.

Here their dialogue was broken by the fresh voice of a woman calling from
the blinds of the balcony--

"Is that you, Theodore?"

Camors raised his eyes and saw a white hand, resting on the slats of the
blind, bathed in sunlight.

"That is my wife. Conceal yourself!" cried Lescande, briskly; and he
pushed Camors behind a clump of catalpas, as he turned to the balcony and
lightly answered:

"Yes, my dear; do you wish anything?"

"Maxime is with you?"

"Yes, mother. I am here," cried the child. "It is a beautiful morning.
Are you quite well?"

"I hardly know. I have slept too long, I believe." She opened the
shutters, and, shading her eyes from the glare with her hand, appeared on
the balcony.

She was in the flower of youth, slight, supple, and graceful, and
appeared, in her ample morning-gown of blue cashmere, plumper and taller
than she really was. Bands of the same color interlaced, in the Greek
fashion, her chestnut hair--which nature, art, and the night had
dishevelled--waved and curled to admiration on her small head.

She rested her elbows on the railing, yawned, showing her white teeth,
and looking at her husband, asked:

"Why do you look so stupid?"

At the instant she observed Camors-