ction of poor Young Girls, her grimace changed into
a gracious smile.

She soon gave her a room and asked her what she wanted to eat, informing
her, however, that it was a fast-day and that, consequently, she had not
much choice.

--Whatever you like, said the dancer; I am convalescent; I have a good
appetite, and I accommodate myself to everything: don't give then the best
which you have, but the cheapest.

--The little thing is sharp, thought Madame Connard; and she added aloud: A
young lady, recommended by Monsieur Tibulle, need not fear that she will
want for anything. Consider what you would like, my little dear, and don't
disturb yourself about the rest. And since you are ill, the Church allows
us to give you meat to eat.

She went out in the meantime, and an hour afterwards she herself served a
dinner which would have made the most greedy of curates envious, and washed
down with that light wine, acrid but heady, which the slopes of the Meurthe
produce.

The dancer, like a true child of Bohemia, dined heartily, and without
needing to be asked. She was at her coffee, when she heard a whispering in
the corridor, and a little cracked voice, which said:

--I am a little late, dear Madame, but I have been kept by Monseigneur. Has
the little one behaved well?

--Like an angel, Monsieur Tibulle, and a demon for beauty.

--Yes, yes. This will be a fine acquisition for the Church. A soul snatched
from Satan, dear Madame, snatched from Satan. We shall make something of
her.

--Ah, how happy you gentlemen are to snatch in this way pretty little souls
from hell. We, poor women, have not that power.

--But you prepare the ways. You open them, dear Madame Connard; everything
has its purpose, its purpose, its purpose.

--Well, Monsieur Tibulle, proceed to yours. It is number 10. I leave you.

And she quietly half-opened the door of No. 10, into which Monsieur glided
like a shadow, saying in his tremulous voice:

--Eh! Eh! it is I, I, I, my little dear. How happy I am to see you again,
to find you here, comfortably installed like a little queen. Eh, eh.

Madame Connard put her head in for an instant, smiled, and cautiously
closed the door; "He is still pretty young for his age," she said to
herself. "Ah, these men! these men! that goes on to the very end."

XCI.

THE CALVES.

"Non formosus erat sed erat facundus Ulixes."

OVID.

Zulma had run forward to meet him. He took hold of both her hands