even appeared to lose
something of his first embarrassment and discomfort, though he was
always inclined to a reverent silence in her presence.

"He don't say much, don't father," said Mademoiselle Esmeralda, with
tears in her pretty eyes. "He's like me, but you don't know what comfort
he's taking when he sits and listens and stirs his chocolate round and
round without drinking it. He doesn't drink it because he aint used to
it; but he likes to have it when we do, because he says it makes him
feel sosherble. He's trying to learn to drink it too--he practices every
day a little at a time. He was powerful afraid at first that you'd take
exceptions to him doing nothing but stir it round; but I told him I knew
you wouldn't for you wasn't that kind."

"I find him," said Clelie to me, "inexpressibly mournful,--even though
he excites one to smile? upon all occasions. Is it not mournful that
his very suffering should be absurd. _Mon Dieu!_ he does not _wear_ his
clothes--he bears them about with him--he simply _carries_ them."

It was about this time that Mademoiselle Esmeralda was rendered doubly
unhappy. Since their residence in Paris Madame had been industriously
occupied in making efforts to enter society. She had struggled violently
and indefatigably. She was at once persistent and ambitious. She had
used every means that lay in her power, and, most of all, she had used
her money. Naturally, she had found people upon the outskirts of good
circles who would accept her with her money. Consequently, she had
obtained acquaintances of a class, and was bold enough to employ them as
stepping-stones. At all events, she began to receive invitations, and to
discover opportunities to pay visits, and to take her daughter with her.
Accordingly, Mademoiselle Esmeralda was placed upon exhibition.

She was dressed by experienced _artistes_. She was forced from her
seclusion, and obliged to drive, and call, and promenade.

Her condition was pitiable. While all this was torture to her
inexperience and timidity, her fear of her mother rendered her wholly
submissive. Each day brought with it some new trial. She was admired for
many reasons,--by some for her wealth, of which all had heard rumors; by
others for her freshness and beauty. The silence and sensitiveness which
arose from shyness, and her ignorance of all social rules, were
called _naivete_ and modesty, and people who abhorred her mother, not
unfrequently were charmed with her,