ng blue
stones. Within the lid of the box, I carefully graved with my scissors'
point certain initials.

* * * * *

The reader will, perhaps, remember the description of Madame Beck's
fete; nor will he have forgotten that at each anniversary, a handsome
present was subscribed for and offered by the school. The observance of
this day was a distinction accorded to none but Madame, and, in a
modified form, to her kinsman and counsellor, M. Emanuel. In the latter
case it was an honour spontaneously awarded, not plotted and contrived
beforehand, and offered an additional proof, amongst many others, of
the estimation in which--despite his partialities, prejudices, and
irritabilities--the professor of literature was held by his pupils. No
article of value was offered to him: he distinctly gave it to be
understood, that he would accept neither plate nor jewellery. Yet he
liked a slight tribute; the cost, the money-value, did not touch him: a
diamond ring, a gold snuff-box, presented, with pomp, would have
pleased him less than a flower, or a drawing, offered simply and with
sincere feelings. Such was his nature. He was a man, not wise in his
generation, yet could he claim a filial sympathy with "the dayspring on
high."

M. Paul's fete fell on the first of March and a Thursday. It proved a
fine sunny day; and being likewise the morning on which it was
customary to attend mass; being also otherwise distinguished by the
half-holiday which permitted the privilege of walking out, shopping, or
paying visits in the afternoon: these combined considerations induced a
general smartness and freshness of dress. Clean collars were in vogue;
the ordinary dingy woollen classe-dress was exchanged for something
lighter and clearer. Mademoiselle Zelie St. Pierre, on this particular
Thursday, even assumed a "robe de soie," deemed in economical
Labassecour an article of hazardous splendour and luxury; nay, it was
remarked that she sent for a "coiffeur" to dress her hair that morning;
there were pupils acute enough to discover that she had bedewed her
handkerchief and her hands with a new and fashionable perfume. Poor
Zelie! It was much her wont to declare about this time, that she was
tired to death of a life of seclusion and labour; that she longed to
have the means and leisure for relaxation; to have some one to work for
her--a husband who would pay her debts (she was woefully encumbered
with debt), supply her