hes, have enchanted M. de la
Perriere, who himself, with his honest eyes, his little white beard,
and the continual nodding of his head, resembles a goat escaped from its
tether.

"In the first place, gentlemen, the apartment of principal importance
in the house, the nursery," said the director, opening a massive door at
the end of the entrance-hall. His guests follow him, go down a few
steps and find themselves in an immense, low room, with a tiled floor,
formerly the kitchen of the mansion. The most striking object on
entering is a lofty and vast fireplace built on the antique model,
of red brick, with two stone benches opposite one another beneath the
chimney, and the singer's coat of arms--an enormous lyre barred with
a roll of music--carved on the monumental pediment. The effect is
startling; but a frightful draught comes from it, which joined to the
coldness of the tile floor and the dull light admitted by the little
windows on a level with the ground, may well terrify one for the
health of the children. But what was do be done? The nursery had to
be installed in this insalubrious spot on account of the sylvan and
capricious nurses, accustomed to the unconstraint of the stable. You
only need to notice the pools of milk, the great reddish puddles drying
up on the tiles, to breathe in the strong odour that meets you as
you enter, a mingling of whey, of wet hair, and of many other things
besides, in order to be convinced of the absolute necessity of this
arrangement.

The gloomy-walled apartment is so large that to the visitors at first
the nursery seems to be deserted. However, at the farther end, a group
of creatures, bleating, moaning, moving about, is soon distinguished.
Two peasant women, hard and brutalized in appearance, with dirty faces,
two "dry-nurses," who well deserve the name, are seated on mats,
each with an infant in her arms and a big nanny-goat in front of her,
offering its udder with legs parted. The director seems pleasantly
surprised.

"Truly, gentlemen, this is lucky. Two of our children are having their
little luncheon. We shall see how well the nurses and infants understand
each other."

"What can he be doing? He is mad," said Jenkins to himself in
consternation.

But the director on the contrary knows very well what he is doing and
has himself skilfully arranged the scene, selecting two patient and
gentle beasts and two exceptional subjects, two little desperate mortals
who want to liv