Ginevra, like a good, honest girl, and send
them back."

"Indeed, I won't," said she, stoutly.

"Then you are deceiving M. Isidore. It stands to reason that by
accepting his presents you give him to understand he will one day
receive an equivalent, in your regard..."

"But he won't," she interrupted: "he has his equivalent now, in the
pleasure of seeing me wear them--quite enough for him: he is only
bourgeois."

This phrase, in its senseless arrogance, quite cured me of the
temporary weakness which had made me relax my tone and aspect. She
rattled on:

"My present business is to enjoy youth, and not to think of fettering
myself, by promise or vow, to this man or that. When first I saw
Isidore, I believed he would help me to enjoy it I believed he would be
content with my being a pretty girl; and that we should meet and part
and flutter about like two butterflies, and be happy. Lo, and behold! I
find him at times as grave as a judge, and deep-feeling and thoughtful.
Bah! Les penseurs, les hommes profonds et passionnes ne sont pas a mon
gout. Le Colonel Alfred de Hamal suits me far better. Va pour les beaux
fats et les jolis fripons! Vive les joies et les plaisirs! A bas les
grandes passions et les severes vertus!"

She looked for an answer to this tirade. I gave none.

"J'aime mon beau Colonel," she went on: "je n'aimerai jamais son rival.
Je ne serai jamais femme de bourgeois, moi!"

I now signified that it was imperatively necessary my apartment should
be relieved of the honour of her presence: she went away laughing.

CHAPTER X.

DR JOHN.

Madame Beck was a most consistent character; forbearing with all the
world, and tender to no part of it. Her own children drew her into no
deviation from the even tenor of her stoic calm. She was solicitous
about her family, vigilant for their interests and physical well-being;
but she never seemed to know the wish to take her little children upon
her lap, to press their rosy lips with her own, to gather them in a
genial embrace, to shower on them softly the benignant caress, the
loving word.

I have watched her sometimes sitting in the garden, viewing the little
bees afar off, as they walked in a distant alley with Trinette, their
_bonne_; in her mien spoke care and prudence. I know she often pondered
anxiously what she called "leur avenir;" but if the youngest, a puny
and delicate but engaging child, chancing to spy her, broke from its
nurse, and toddling