ated to her son all she owed to that dear friend "her own
daughter, the best of daughters, the most patient, the most devoted of
daughters, could not have done more! Ah! if there only could be found
another one like her!"

Whereupon the object of all these praises made her escape, disclaiming
everything.

Why, after this, should she have hesitated to come back to Lizerolles
every day, as of late had been her custom? Men know so little about
taking care of sick people. So she came, and was present at all the
rejoicings and all the talks that followed Fred's return. She took her
part in the discussions about Fred's future. "Help me, my pet," said
Madame d'Argy, "help me to find a wife for him: all we ask is that she
should be like you."

In answer to which Fred declared, half-laughing and half-seriously, that
that was his ideal.

She did not believe much of this, but, following her natural instinct,
she assumed the dangerous task of consolation, until, as Madame d'Argy
grew better, she discontinued her daily visits, and Fred, in his turn,
took a habit of going over to Fresne without being invited, and spending
there a good deal of his time.

"Don't send me away. You who are always charitable," he said. "If you
only knew what a pleasure a Parisian conversation is after coming from
Tonquin!"

"But I am so little of a Parisienne, or at least what you mean by that
term, and my conversation is not worth coming for," objected Giselle.

In her extreme modesty she did not realize how much she had gained in
intellectual culture. Women left to themselves have time to read, and
Giselle had done this all the more because she had considered it a duty.
Must she not know enough to instruct and superintend the education of
her son? With much strong feeling, yet with much simplicity, she spoke
to Fred of this great task, which sometimes frightened her; he gave her
his advice, and both discussed together the things that make up a good
man. Giselle brought up frequently the subject of heredity: she named
no one, but Fred could see that she had a secret terror lest Enguerrand,
who in person was very like his father, might also inherit his
character. Fears on this subject, however, appeared unfounded. There was
nothing about the child that was not good; his tastes were those of his
mother. He was passionately fond of Fred, climbing on his lap as soon as
the latter arrived and always maintaining that he, too, wanted a pretty
red ribbo