little soldier too--in the ante-room. Rosalie had gone
out, and Jeanne must have been playing on the landing, though strictly
forbidden to do so by her mother.

"What do you want, my lad?" asked Helene.

The little soldier was very much confused on seeing this lady, so
lovely and fair, in her dressing-gown trimmed with lace; he shuffled
one foot to and fro over the floor, bowed, and at last precipitately
stammered: "I beg pardon--excuse--"

But he could get no further, and retreated to the wall, still
shuffling his feet. His retreat was thus cut off, and seeing the lady
awaited his reply with an involuntary smile, he dived into his
right-hand pocket, from which he dragged a blue handkerchief, a knife,
and a hunk of bread. He gazed on each in turn, and thrust them all
back again. Then he turned his attention to the left-hand pocket, from
which were produced a twist of cord, two rusty nails, and some
pictures wrapped in part of a newspaper. All these he pushed back to
their resting-place, and began tapping his thighs with an anxious air.
And again he stammered in bewilderment:

"I beg pardon--excuse--"

But all at once he raised his finger to his nose, and exclaimed with a
loud laugh: "What a fool I am! I remember now!"

He then undid two buttons of his greatcoat, and rummaged in his
breast, into which he plunged his arm up to the elbow. After a time he
drew forth a letter, which he rustled violently before handing to
Helene, as though to shake some dust from it.

"A letter for me! Are you sure?" said she.

On the envelope were certainly inscribed her name and address in a
heavy rustic scrawl, with pothooks and hangers tumbling over one
another. When at last she made it all out, after being repeatedly
baffled by the extraordinary style and spelling, she could not but
smile again. It was a letter from Rosalie's aunt, introducing Zephyrin
Lacour, who had fallen a victim to the conscription, "in spite of two
masses having been said by his reverence." However, as Zephyrin was
Rosalie's "intended" the aunt begged that madame would be so good as
to allow the young folks to see each other on Sundays. In the three
pages which the letter comprised this question was continually
cropping up in the same words, the confusion of the epistle increasing
through the writer's vain efforts to say something she had not said
before. Just above the signature, however, she seemed to have hit the
nail on the head, for she had written: