you, nephew, thank you, niece," and she points to two chairs. "I
am sensible of this step on your part; it proves to me that you have not
altogether forgotten the duties imposed upon you by family ties."

"You are reckoning, my dear aunt, without the affection we feel for you,
and which of itself is enough... Baby, go and kiss your aunt."

Baby whispers in my ear, "But, papa, I tell you she does prick."

I place the bonbons on a side-table.

"You can, nephew, dispense with offering me that little gift; you know
that sweetmeats disagree with me, and, if I were not aware of your
indifference as to the state of my health, I should see in your offering
a veiled sarcasm. But let that pass. Does your father still bear up
against his infirmities courageously?"

"Thank you, yes."

"I thought to please you, dear aunt," observes my wife, "by embroidering
for you this cushion, which I beg you to accept."

"I thank you, child, but I can still hold myself sufficiently upright,
thank God, not to have any need of a cushion. The embroidery is
charming, it is an Oriental design. You might have made a better choice,
knowing that I like things much more simple. It is charming, however,
although this red next to the green here sets one's teeth on edge. Taste
in colors is, however, not given to every one. I have, in return, to
offer you my photograph, which that dear Abbe Miron insisted on my
having taken."

"How kind you are, and how like you it is! Do you recognize your aunt,
Baby?"

"Do not think yourself obliged to speak contrary to your opinion. This
photograph does not in any way resemble me, my eyes are much brighter. I
have also a packet of jujubes for your child. He seems to have grown."

"Baby, go and kiss your aunt."

"And then we shall go, mamma?"

"You are very rude, my dear."

"Let him speak out; at any rate, he is frank. But I see that your
husband is getting impatient, you have other... errands to fulfil; I
will not keep you. Besides, I am going to church to pray for those who
do not pray for themselves."

From twelve duty calls, subtract one duty call, and eleven remain. Hum!
"Coachman, Rue St. Louis au Marais."

"Papa, has Aunt Ursula needles in her chin?"

Let us pass over the eleven duty calls, they are no more agreeable to
write of than to make.

Toward seven o'clock, heaven be praised, the horses stop before my
father's, where dinner awaits us. Baby claps his hands, and smiles at
old Jeannette, w