coming from Touraine to Paris with hob-nailed shoes and a cudgel in his
hand, might well be flattered and happy in giving such a fete for such
praiseworthy reasons.

"Bless my heart!" cried Cesar. "I'd give a hundred francs if someone
would only come in now and pay us a visit."

"Here is Monsieur l'Abbe Loraux," said Virginie.

The abbe entered. He was at that time vicar of Saint-Sulpice. The power
of the soul was never better manifested than in this saintly priest,
whose intercourse with others left upon the minds of all an indelible
impression. His grim face, so plain as to check confidence, had grown
sublime through the exercise of Catholic virtues; upon it shone, as
it were by anticipation, the celestial glories. Sincerity and candor,
infused into his very blood, gave harmony to his unsightly features, and
the fires of charity blended the discordant lines by a phenomenon, the
exact counterpart of that which in Claparon had debased and brutalized
the human being. Faith, Hope, and Charity, the three noblest virtues
of humanity, shed their charm among the abbe's wrinkles; his speech
was gentle, slow, and penetrating. His dress was that of the priests of
Paris, and he allowed himself to wear a brown frock-coat. No ambition
had ever crept into that pure heart, which the angels would some day
carry to God in all its pristine innocence. It required the gentle
firmness of the daughter of Louis XVI. to induce him to accept a
benefice in Paris, humble as it was. As he now entered the room he
glanced with an uneasy eye at the magnificence before him, smiled at the
three delighted people, and shook his gray head.

"My children," he said, "my part in life is not to share in gaieties,
but to visit the afflicted. I came to thank Monsieur Cesar for his
invitation, and to congratulate you. I shall come to only one fete
here,--the marriage of this dear child."

After the short visit the abbe went away without seeing the various
apartments, which the perfumer and his wife dared not show him. This
solemn apparition threw a few drops of cold water into the boiling
delight of Cesar's heart. Each of the party slept amid their new luxury,
taking possession of the good things and the pretty things they
had severally wished for. Cesarine undressed her mother before a
toilet-table of white marble with a long mirror. Cesar had given himself
a few superfluities, and longed to make use of them at once: and they
all went to sleep thinking of