lat remarks into witty speeches. Love is a maker
of false coin, continually changing copper pennies into gold-pieces, and
sometimes turning its real gold into copper.

"Well, Athanase, will you promise me?"

This final sentence struck the ear of the absorbed young man like one of
those noises which wake us with a bound.

"What, mademoiselle?"

Mademoiselle Cormon rose hastily, and looked at du Bousquier, who at
that moment resembled the stout god of Fable which the Republic stamped
upon her coins. She walked up to Madame Granson, and said in her ear:--

"My dear friend, you son is an idiot. That lyceum has ruined him," she
added, remembering the insistence with which the chevalier had spoken of
the evils of education in such schools.

What a catastrophe! Unknown to himself, the luckless Athanase had had
an occasion to fling an ember of his own fire upon the pile of brush
gathered in the heart of the old maid. Had he listened to her, he
might have made her, then and there, perceive his passion; for, in the
agitated state of Mademoiselle Cormon's mind, a single word would
have sufficed. But that stupid absorption in his own sentiments, which
characterizes young and true love, had ruined him, as a child full of
life sometimes kills itself out of ignorance.

"What have you been saying to Mademoiselle Cormon?" demanded his mother.

"Nothing."

"Nothing; well, I can explain that," she thought to herself, putting off
till the next day all further reflection on the matter, and attaching
but little importance to Mademoiselle Cormon's words; for she fully
believed that du Bousquier was forever lost in the old maid's esteem
after the revelation of that evening.

Soon the four tables were filled with their sixteen players. Four
persons were playing piquet,--an expensive game, at which the most money
was lost. Monsieur Choisnel, the procureur-du-roi, and two ladies
went into the boudoir for a game at backgammon. The glass lustres were
lighted; and then the flower of Mademoiselle Cormon's company gathered
before the fireplace, on sofas, and around the tables, and each couple
said to her as they arrived,--

"So you are going to-morrow to Prebaudet?"

"Yes, I really must," she replied.

On this occasion the mistress of the house appeared preoccupied. Madame
Granson was the first to perceive the quite unnatural state of the old
maid's mind,--Mademoiselle Cormon was thinking!

"What are you thinking of, cousin?" she said