astles-in-air that she founded upon two or three little
discoveries there made. Should she tell them to Clotilde? Ah! and for
what? No, Clotilde was a dear daughter--ha! few women were capable of
having such a daughter as Clotilde; but there were things about which
she was entirely too scrupulous. So, when she came in from that errand
profoundly satisfied that she would in future hear no more about the
rent than she might choose to hear, she had been too shrewd to expose
herself to her daughter's catechising. She would save her little
revelations for disclosure when they might be used to advantage. As she
threw her bonnet upon the bed, she exclaimed, in a tone of gentle and
wearied reproach:

"Why did you not remind me that M. Honore Grandissime, that precious
somebody-great, has the honor to rejoice in a quadroon half-brother of
the same illustrious name? Why did you not remind me, eh?"

"Ah! and you know it as well as A, B, C," playfully retorted Clotilde.

"Well, guess which one is our landlord?"

"Which one?"

"_Ma foi_! how do _I_ know? I had to wait a shameful long time to see
_Monsieur le prince_,--just because I am a De Grapion, I know. When at
last I saw him, he says, 'Madame, this is the other Honore Grandissime.'
There, you see we are the victims of a conspiracy; if I go to the other,
he will send me back to the first. But, Clotilde, my darling," cried the
beautiful speaker, beamingly, "dismiss all fear and care; we shall have
no more trouble about it."

"And how, indeed, do you know that?"

"Something tells it to me in my ear. I feel it! Trust in Providence, my
child. Look at me, how happy I am; but you--you never trust in
Providence. That is why we have so much trouble,--because you don't
trust in Providence. Oh! I am so hungry, let us have dinner."

"What sort of a person is M. Grandissime in his appearance?" asked
Clotilde, over their feeble excuse for a dinner.

"What sort? Do you imagine I had nothing better to do than notice
whether a Grandissime is good-looking or not? For all I know to the
contrary, he is--some more rice, please, my dear."

But this light-heartedness did not last long. It was based on an
unutterable secret, all her own, about which she still had trembling
doubts; this, too, notwithstanding her consultation of the dark oracles.
She was going to stop that. In the long run, these charms and spells
themselves bring bad luck. Moreover, the practice, indulged in to
excess, was