retty a creature.

"My child," he told her, "things strike us in a totally different light
according as they are near at hand or far off. It is no time for you to
despair. Such as I am, and brought to this sorry plight by the buffets
of time and fortune, I yet make shift to endure a life wherein my
pleasures are to translate Greek and dine sometimes with sundry very
worthy friends. Look at me, mademoiselle, and say,--would you consent to
live in the same conditions as I?"

She looked him over; her eyes almost laughed, and she shook her head.
Then, resuming her melancholy and mournfulness, she faltered:

"There is not in all the world so unhappy a being as I am."

"Mademoiselle," returned my good master, "I am discreet both by calling
and temperament; I will not seek to force your confidence. But your
looks betray you; any one can see you are sick of disappointed love.
Well, 't is not an incurable complaint. I have had it myself, and I have
lived many a long year since then."

He took her hand, gave her a thousand tokens of his sympathy, and went
on in these terms:

"There is only one thing I regret for the moment,--that I cannot offer
you a refuge for the night, or what is left of it. My present lodging
is in an old chateau a long way from here, where I am busy translating a
Greek book along with young Master Tournebroche whom you see here."

My master spoke the truth. We were living at the time with M. d'Astarac,
at the Chateau des Sablons, in the village of Neuilly, and were in the
pay of a great alchemist, who died later under tragic circumstances.

"At the same time, mademoiselle," my master added, "if you should know
of any place where you think you could go, I shall be happy to escort
you thither."

To which the girl answered she appreciated all his kindness, that she
lived with a kinswoman, to whose house she could count on being admitted
at any hour; but that she had rather not return before daylight. She was
fain, she said, not to disturb quiet folks' sleep, and dreaded moreover
to have her grief too painfully renewed by the sight of her old,
familiar surroundings.

As she spoke thus, the tears rained down from her eyes. My good master
bade her:

"Mademoiselle, give me your handkerchief, if you please, and I will wipe
your eyes. Then I will take you to wait for daybreak under the archways
of the Halles, where we can sit in comfort under shelter from the night
dews."

The girl smiled through her t