as
all that was needed to straighten everything out. And yet," the good man
would add by force of habit, "and yet I haf no gonfidence."

"Never fear, Monsieur Sigismond, I am here," the judge would reply.

"You're not going away yet, are you, my dear Frantz?"

"No, no--not yet. I have an important matter to finish up first."

"Ah! so much the better."

The important matter to which Frantz referred was his marriage to
Desiree Delobelle. He had not yet mentioned it to any one, not even to
her; but Mam'zelle Zizi must have suspected something, for she became
prettier and more lighthearted from day to day, as if she foresaw that
the day would soon come when she would need all her gayety and all her
beauty.

They were alone in the workroom one Sunday afternoon. Mamma Delobelle
had gone out, proud enough to show herself for once in public with
her great man, and leaving friend Frantz with her daughter to keep her
company. Carefully dressed, his whole person denoting a holiday air,
Frantz had a singular expression on his face that day, an expression at
once timid and resolute, emotional and solemn, and simply from the
way in which the little low chair took its place beside the great
easy-chair, the easy-chair understood that a very serious communication
was about to be made to it in confidence, and it had some little
suspicion as to what it might be.

The conversation began with divers unimportant remarks, interspersed
with long and frequent pauses, just as, on a journey, we stop at every
baiting-place to take breath, to enable us to reach our destination.

"It is a fine day to-day."

"Oh! yes, beautiful."

"Our flowers still smell sweet."

"Oh! very sweet."

And even as they uttered those trivial sentences, their voices trembled
at the thought of what was about to be said.

At last the little low chair moved a little nearer the great easy-chair;
their eyes met, their fingers were intertwined, and the two, in low
tones, slowly called each other by their names.

"Desiree!"

"Frantz!"

At that moment there was a knock at the door.

It was the soft little tap of a daintily gloved hand which fears to soil
itself by the slightest touch.

"Come in!" said Desiree, with a slight gesture of impatience; and
Sidonie appeared, lovely, coquettish, and affable. She had come to see
her little Zizi, to embrace her as she was passing by. She had been
meaning to come for so long.

Frantz's presence seemed to surprise h