same expression of wondering admiration I had
observed in the diligence at the little Nathalie--more citron-hued than
ever. At length she unhooked the cage of Coco, the parrot, took
Faufreluche under one arm and her blue umbrella under the other, and went
away in company with the whole family, myself included, every one carrying
a parcel or a basket to the diligence office. What a party that was! Every
one was in tears except Nathalie. She bore up manfully, if I may use the
word; laughed, and actually joked; but just as I handed Coco in, her
factitious courage yielded, and she burst into an agony of grief. With
officious zeal I kept at the window until the diligence gave a lurch and
started; and then turning round I looked at Claude and Marie, who were
already mingling their eyes in selfish forgetfulness of their
benefactress, and said solemnly: "There goes the best woman ever created
for this unworthy earth." The artist, who, for an ordinary man, did not
lack sentiment, took my hand and said: "Sir, I will quarrel with any man
who says less of that angel than you have done."

The marriage was brought about in less time than had been agreed upon.
Nathalie of course did not come; but she sent some presents and a pleasant
letter of congratulation, in which she called herself "an inveterate old
maid." About a year afterwards I passed through Lyon and saw her. She was
still very yellow, and more than ever attentive to Fanfreluche and Coco. I
even thought she devoted herself too much to the service of these two
troublesome pets, to say nothing of a huge cat which she had added to her
menagerie, as a kind of hieroglyphic of her condition. "How fare the
married couple?" cried she, tossing up her cork-screw curls. "Still cooing
and billing?"

"Mademoiselle," said I, "they are getting on pretty well. Claude, finding
the historic pencil not lucrative, has taken to portrait-painting; and
being no longer an enthusiastic artist, talks even of adopting the more
expeditious method of the Daguerreotype. In the meantime, half the
tradesmen of Avignon, to say nothing of Aix, have bespoken caricatures of
themselves by his hand. Marie makes a tolerable wife, but has a terrible
will of her own, and is feared as well as loved."

Nathalie tried to laugh; but the memory of her old illusions coming over
her, she leaned down towards the cat she was nursing, and sparkling tears
fell upon its glossy fur.

MADEMOISELLE DE CAMARGO.

Fr