ard, with the
slippers of a Cinderella twinkling at the edge of her robe. It seemed
unfit that the floor under them should not be clouds.

"Proffis-or Frowenfel', good-day! Teg a cha'." She laughed. It was the
pure joy of existence. "You's well? You lookin' verrie well! Halways
bizzie? You fine dad agriz wid you' healt', 'Sieur Frowenfel'? Yes? Ha,
ha, ha!" She suddenly leaned toward him across the arm of her chair,
with an earnest face. "'Sieur Frowenfel', Palmyre wand see you. You don'
wan' come ad 'er 'ouse, eh?--an' you don' wan' her to come ad yo'
bureau. You know, 'Sieur Frowenfel', she drez the hair of Clotilde an'
mieself. So w'en she tell me dad, I juz say, 'Palmyre, I will sen' for
Proffis-or Frowenfel' to come yeh; but I don' thing 'e comin'.' You
know, I din' wan' you to 'ave dad troub'; but Clotilde--ha, ha, ha!
Clotilde is sudge a foolish--she nevva thing of dad troub' to you--she
say she thing you was too kine-'arted to call dad troub'--ha, ha, ha! So
anny'ow we sen' for you, eh!"

Frowenfeld said he was glad they had done so, whereupon Aurora rose
lightly, saying:

"I go an' sen' her." She started away, but turned back to add: "You
know, 'Sieur Frowenfel', she say she cann' truz nobody bud y'u." She
ended with a low, melodious laugh, bending her joyous eyes upon the
apothecary with her head dropped to one side in a way to move a heart
of flint.

She turned and passed through a door, and by the same way Palmyre
entered. The philosophe came forward noiselessly and with a subdued
expression, different from any Frowenfeld had ever before seen. At the
first sight of her a thrill of disrelish ran through him of which he was
instantly ashamed; as she came nearer he met her with a deferential bow
and the silent tender of a chair. She sat down, and, after a moment's
pause, handed him a sealed letter.

He turned it over twice, recognized the handwriting, felt the disrelish
return, and said:

"This is addressed to yourself."

She bowed.

"Do you know who wrote it?" he asked.

She bowed again.

"_Oui, Miche_."

"You wish me to open it? I cannot read French."

She seemed to have some explanation to offer, but could not command the
necessary English; however, with the aid of Frowenfeld's limited
guessing powers, she made him understand that the bearer of the letter
to her had brought word from the writer that it was written in English
purposely that M. Frowenfeld--the only person he was willing should