at that time a man named Jean Monette,
who was tolerably well stricken in years, but still a hearty man. He was a
widower, and, with an only daughter, occupied a floor, au quatrieme, in
one of the courts; people said he had been in business and grown rich, but
that he had not the heart to spend his money, which year after year
accumulated, and would make a splendid fortune for his daughter at his
death. With this advantage, Emma, who was really a handsome girl, did not
want for suitors, and thought that, being an heiress, she might wait till
she really felt a reciprocal passion for some one, and not throw herself
away upon the first tolerable match that presented itself. It was on a
Sunday, the first in the month of June, that Emma had, as an especial
treat, obtained sufficient money from her father for an excursion with
some friends to see the fountains of Versailles.

It was a beautiful day, and the basin was thronged around with thousands
and thousands of persons, looking, from the variety of their dresses, more
like the colors of a splendid rainbow than aught besides; and when, at
four o'clock, Triton and his satellites threw up their immense volumes of
water, all was wonder, astonishment, and delight; but none were more
delighted than Emma, to whom the scene was quite new.

And, then, it was so pleasant to have found a gentleman who could explain
everything and everybody; point out the duke of this, and the count that,
and the other lions of Paris; besides, such an agreeable and well-dressed
man; it was really quite condescending in him to notice them! And then,
toward evening, he would insist they should all go home together in a
fiacre, and that he alone should pay all the expenses, and when, with a
gentle pressure of the hand and a low whisper, he begged her to say where
he might come and throw himself at her feet, she thought her feelings were
different to what they had ever been before. But how could she give her
address--tell so dashing a man that she lived in such a place? No, she
could not do that, but she would meet him at the Jardin d'Ete next Sunday
evening, and dance with no one else all night.

She met him on the Sunday, and again and again, until her father began to
suspect, from her frequent absence of an evening--which was formerly an
unusual circumstance with her--that something must be wrong. The old man
loved his money, but he loved his daughter more. She was the only link in
life that kept toge