aled parcel, which he
hands to one of the shopmen, saying:

"'Give that to Citizen Clairfait.'

"'Any name?' says the shopman.

"'The name is of no consequence,' answers the old man; 'but if you
please, you can give mine. Say the parcel came from Citizen Dubois;' and
then he goes out. His name, in connection with his elderly look, strikes
me directly.

"'Does that old fellow live at Chalons?' I ask.

"'No,' says the shopman. 'He is here in attendance on a customer of
ours--an old ex-aristocrat named Danville. She is on a visit in our
town.'

"I leave you to imagine how that reply startles and amazes me. The
shopman can answer none of the other questions I put to him; but the
next day I am asked to dinner by my employer (who, for his brother's
sake, shows me the utmost civility). On entering the room, I find his
daughter just putting away a lavender-colored silk scarf, on which she
has been embroidering in silver what looks to me very like a crest and
coat-of-arms.

"'I don't mind your seeing what I am about, Citizen Lomaque,' says she;
'for I know my father can trust you. That scarf is sent back to us by
the purchaser, an ex-emigrant lady of the old aristocratic school, to
have her family coat-of-arms embroidered on it.'

"'Rather a dangerous commission even in these mercifully democratic
times, is it not?' says I.

"'The old lady, you must know,' says she, 'is as proud as Lucifer;
and having got back safely to France in these days of moderate
republicanism, thinks she may now indulge with impunity in all her
old-fashioned notions. She has been an excellent customer of ours, so
my father thought it best to humor her, without, however, trusting her
commission to any of the workroom women to execute. We are not living
under the Reign of Terror now, certainly; still there is nothing like
being on the safe side.'

"'Nothing,' I answer. 'Pray what is this ex-emigrant's name?'

"'Danville,' replies the citoyenne Clairfait. 'She is going to appear
in that fine scarf at her son's marriage.'

"'Marriage!' I exclaim, perfectly thunderstruck.

"'Yes,' says she. 'What is there so amazing in that? By all accounts,
the son, poor man, deserves to make a lucky marriage this time. His
first wife was taken away from him in the Reign of Terror by the
guillotine.'

"'Who is he going to marry?' I inquire, still breathless.

"'The daughter of General Berthelin--an ex-aristocrat by family, like
the old lady; but by princi