nts, of which he
preferred to keep the monopoly. It came into his mind that he would pay
a little visit to Giselle, who, of all the people he knew, was the least
likely to provoke a quarrel. He had heard that Madame de Talbrun did not
go out, being confined to her sofa by much suffering, which, it might be
hoped, would soon come to an end; and the certainty that he should find
her if he called at once decided him. Since he had been in Paris he had
done nothing but leave cards. This time, however, he was sure that the
lady upon whom he called would be at home. He was taken at once into the
young wife's boudoir, where he found her very feeble, lying back upon
her cushions, alone, and working at some little bits of baby-clothes. He
was not slow to perceive that she was very glad to see him. She flushed
with pleasure as he came into the room, and, dropping her sewing,
held out to him two little, thin hands, white as wax. "Take that
footstool--sit down there--what a great, great pleasure it is to see you
back again!" She was more expansive than she had been formerly; she had
gained a certain ease which comes from intercourse with the world, but
how delicate she seemed! Fred for a moment looked at her in silence,
she seemed so changed as she lay there in a loose robe of pale blue
cashmere, whose train drawn over her feet made her look tall as it
stretched to the end of the gilded couch, round which Giselle had
collected all the little things required by an invalid--bottles, boxes,
work-bag, dressing-case, and writing materials.

"You see," she said, with her soft smile, "I have plenty to occupy
me, and I venture to be proud of my work and to think I am creating
marvels."

As she spoke she turned round on her closed hand a cap that seemed
microscopic to Fred.

"What!" he cried, "do you expect him to be small enough to wear that!"

"Him! you said him; and I am sure you will be right. I know it will be a
boy," replied Giselle, eagerly, her fair face brightened by these words.
"I have some that are still smaller. Look!" and she lifted up a pile of
things trimmed with ribbons and embroidery. "See; these are the first!
Ah! I lie here and fancy how he will look when he has them on. He will
be sweet enough to eat. Only his papa wants us to give him a name that
I think is too long for him, because it has always been in the
family--Enguerrand."

"His name will be longer than himself, I should say, judging by the
dimensions of thi