of Claude favorably; but when it came out
that a good part of his capital belonged to Nathalie, every circumstance
of deference to her was explained. Mere Cossu was not a very remarkable
personage; unless it be remarkable that she entertained the most profound
veneration for her husband, quoted his commonest sayings as witticisms,
and was ready to laugh herself into convulsions if he sneezed louder than
usual. Marie was a charming little person; perhaps a little too demure in
her manners, considering her wicked black eyes. She was soon very friendly
with Claude and me, but seemed to prefer passing her time in whispered
conversations with Nathalie. I was let into the secret that their
conversation turned principally on the means of getting rid of the
husband-elect--a great lubberly fellow, who lived some leagues off, and
whose red face shone over the garden-gate, in company with a huge nosegay,
regularly every Sunday morning. In spite of the complying temper of old
Cossu in other respects when Nathalie gave her advice, he seemed
obstinately bent on choosing his own son-in-law. Parents are oftener
correct than romancers will allow in their negative opinions on this
delicate subject, but I can not say as much for them when they undertake
to be affirmative.

I soon observed that Nathalie was not so entirely devoted to the
accomplishment of the object for which she had undertaken the journey as
she had promised; and, above all, that she spoke no more of the
disinterested sacrifice of herself as a substitute for Marie. I
maliciously alluded to this subject in one of our private confabulations,
and Nathalie, instead of being offended, frankly answered that she could
not make big Paul Boneau happy and assist Claude in his studies at the
same time. "I have now," she said, "an occupation for the rest of my
life--namely, to develop this genius, of which France will one day be
proud; and I shall devote myself to it unremittingly."

"Come, Nathalie," replied I, taking her arm in mine as we crossed the
poplar-meadow, "have you no hope of a reward?"

"I understand," quoth she, frankly; "and I will not play at cross-purposes
with you. If this young man really loves his art, and his art alone, as he
pretends, could he do better than reward me--as you call it--for my
assistance? The word has a cruel signification, but you did not mean it
unkindly."

I looked at her wan, sallow countenance, that had begun for some days to
wear an expr