ever called "Madame Rosalie," and she cherished the name, and
gave commands that when her grave came to be made near to a certain
other grave, Madame Rosalie should be carved upon the stone.
Cheerfulness and serenity were ever with her, undisturbed by wish to
probe the mystery of the life which had once absorbed her own. She never
sought to know whence the man came; it was sufficient to know whither
he had gone, and that he had been hers for a brief dream of life. It
was better to have lived the one short thrilling hour with all its pain,
than never to have known what she knew or felt what she had felt. The
mystery deepened her romance, and she was even glad that the ruffians
who slew him were never brought to justice. To her mind they were but
part of the mystic machinery of fate.

For her the years had given many compensations, and so she told the
Cure, one midsummer day, when she brought to visit him the orphaned
son of Paulette Dubois, graduated from his college in France and making
ready to go to the far East.

"I have had more than I deserve--a thousand times," she said.

The Cure smiled, and laid a gentle hand upon her own. "It is right for
you to think so," he said, "but after a long life, I am ready to say
that, one way or another, we earn all the real happiness we have. I mean
the real happiness--the moments, my child. I once had a moment full of
happiness."

"May I ask?" she said.

"When my heart first went out to him"--he turned his face towards the
churchyard.

"He was a great man," she said proudly.

The Cure looked at her benignly: she was a woman, and she had loved
the man. He had, however, come to a stage of life where greatness alone
seemed of little moment. He forbore to answer her, but he pressed her
hand.

ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

A left-handed boy is all right in the world
Always hoping the best from the worst of us
Damnable propinquity
Good fathers think they have good daughters
Have not we all something to hide--with or without shame?
He has wheeled his nuptial bed into the street
He left his fellow-citizens very much alone
He had had acquaintances, but never friendships, and never loves
Hugging the chain of denial to his bosom
I have a good memory for forgetting
I am only myself when I am drunk
I should remember to forget it
Importunity with discretion was his motto
In all secrets there is a kind of gu