those two young people together,
made them mutually interested each in those things that the other had
most at heart. She knew the names of his two brothers, Pierre and
Louis, and his plans for their future when they should leave school.
Pierre wanted to be a sailor. "Oh! no, not a sailor," said Grandmamma,
"it would be much better for him to come to Paris with you." And when
he admitted that he was afraid of Paris for them, she laughed at his
fears, called him a provincial, for she was full of affection for the
city where she was born, where she had grown chastely to womanhood, and
which gave her in return the vivacity, the natural refinement, the
sprightly good-humor which make one think that Paris, with its rains,
its fogs, its sky which is no sky, is the true fatherland of woman,
whose nerves it spares and whose patient and intelligent qualities it
develops.

Each day Paul de Gery appreciated Mademoiselle Aline more
thoroughly--he was the only one in the house who called her by that
name--and, strangely enough, it was Felicia who finally cemented their
intimacy. What connection could there be between that artist's
daughter, fairly launched in the most exalted spheres, and that
bourgeois maiden lost to sight in the depths of a suburb? Connections
of childhood and friendship, common memories, the great courtyard of
the Belin establishment, where they had played together for three
years. Such meetings are very common in Paris. A name mentioned at
random in conversation suddenly calls forth the amazed question:

"What! do you know her?"

"Do I know Felicia? Why we sat at adjoining desks in the first class.
We had the same garden. Such a dear, lovely, clever girl!"

And, noticing how pleased he was to listen to her, Aline recalled the
days, still so near, which already formed part of the past to her,
fascinating and melancholy like all pasts. She was quite alone in life,
was little Felicia. On Thursday, when they called out the names in the
parlor, there was never any one for her; except now and then an old
woman, a nice old woman, if she was a little ridiculous, a former
ballet-dancer it was said, whom Felicia called the Fairy. She had pet
names like that for everybody of whom she was fond, and she transformed
them all in her imagination. They used to see each other during the
vacations. Madame Joyeuse, although she refused to send Aline to M.
Ruys's studio, invited Felicia for whole days,--very short days, made
up