f cures! Lord
Archibald quite fell in love with her.

"C'est moi qui voudrais bien avoir les oreillons ici!" he said to
her. "Je retarderais ma convalescence autant que possible!"

[Illustration: MADEMOISELLE MARCELINE]

"Comme il sait bien le francais, votre oncle--et comme il est
poli!" said Marceline to the convalescent Barty, who was in no
hurry to get well either!

When we did get well again, Barty would spend much of his play-time
fetching and carrying for Mlle. Marceline--even getting Dumollard's
socks for her to darn--and talking to her by the hour as he sat by
her pleasant window, out of which one could see the Arch of Triumph,
which so triumphantly dominated Paris and its suburbs, and does so
still--no Eiffel Tower can kill that arch!

I, being less precocious, did not begin my passion for Mlle.
Marceline till next year, just as Bonneville and Jolivet trois were
getting over theirs. Nous avons tous passe par la!

What a fresh and kind and jolly woman she was, to be sure! I wonder
none of the masters married her. Perhaps they did! Let us hope it
wasn't M. Dumollard!

It is such a pleasure to recall every incident of this epoch of my
life and Barty's that I should like to go through our joint lives
day by day, hour by hour, microscopically--to describe every book we
read, every game we played, every _pensum_ (_i.e._, imposition) we
performed; every lark we were punished for--every meal we ate. But
space forbids this self-indulgence, and other considerations make it
unadvisable--so I will resist the temptation.

La pension Brossard! How often have we both talked of it, Barty and
I, as middle-aged men; in the billiard-room of the Marathoneum, let
us say, sitting together on a comfortable couch, with tea and
cigarettes--and always in French whispers! we could only talk of
Brossard's in French.

"Te rappelles-tu l'habit neuf de Berquin, et son chapeau
haute-forme?"

[Illustration: "'IF HE ONLY KNEW!'"]

"Te souviens-tu de la vieille chatte angora du pere Jaurion?" etc.,
etc., etc.

Idiotic reminiscences! as charming to revive as any old song with
words of little meaning that meant so much when one was
four--five--six years old! Before one knew even how to spell them!

"Paille a Dine--paille a Chine--
Paille a Suzette et Martine--
Bon lit a la Dumaine!"

Celine, my nurse, used to sing this--and I never knew what it meant;
nor do I now! But it was charming indeed.

Even now I dre