me into my chamber in his shirt-sleeves,
and seeing me so thoughtful, he exclaimed:

"Joseph, the most beautiful thing in the world is the religion of the
people."

I was quite astonished to hear him express precisely my own thoughts.

"Yes," he added, "the love of God, the love of country and of family,
are one and the same thing; but it is sad to see the love of country
perverted to satisfy the ambition of a man, and the love of God to
exalt the pride and the desire to rule in a few."

These words impressed me deeply, and I have often thought since that
they expressed the sad truth. Well! to return to those days, you know
that after the siege we were obliged to work on Sundays, because Mr.
Goulden while serving as a gunner on the ramparts had neglected his
work and we were behindhand. So that on that morning as on the others
I lighted the fire in our little stove and prepared the breakfast; the
windows were open and we could hear the noise from the streets.

Mr. Goulden leaned out of the window and said: "Look! all the shops
except the inns and the beer-houses are closed!"

He laughed, and I asked, "Shall we open our shutters, Mr. Goulden?"

He turned round as if surprised: "Look here, Joseph, I never knew a
better boy than you, but you lack sense. Why should we close our
shutters? Because God created the world in six days and rested the
seventh? But we did not create it ourselves, and we need to work to
live. If we shut our shop from interest and pretend to be saints and
so gain new customers, that will be hypocrisy. You speak sometimes
without thinking."

I saw at once that I was wrong, and I replied: "Mr. Goulden, we will
leave our windows open and it will be seen that we have watches to
sell, and that will do no harm to any one."

We were no sooner at table than Aunt Gredel and Catherine came.
Catherine was dressed entirely in black, on account of the service for
Louis XVI. She had a pretty little bonnet of black tulle, and her
dress was very nicely made, and this set off her delicate red and white
complexion and made her look so beautiful that I could hardly believe
that she was Joseph Bertha's beloved; her neck was white as snow, and
had it not been for her lips and her rosy little chin, her blue eyes
and golden hair, I should have thought that it was some one who
resembled her, but who was more beautiful. She laughed when she saw
how much I admired her, and at last I said: "Catherine, you are