two young
folk were left in darkness.

"One would think that it was done on purpose," said Francine. "Forgive
me sir, for all the trouble I am giving you, and be good enough to
strike a light so that I may find my key."

"Certainly mademoiselle," answered Jacques, feeling for the matches.

He had soon found them. But a singular idea flashed across his mind, and
he put the matches in his pocket saying, "Dear me, mademoiselle, here is
another trouble. I have not a single match here. I used the last when I
came in."

"Oh!" said Francine, "after all I can very well find my way without a
light, my room is not big enough for me to lose myself in it. But I must
have my key. Will you be good enough, sir, to help me to look for it? It
must have fallen to the ground."

"Let us look for it, mademoiselle," said Jacques.

And both of them began to seek the lost article in the dark, but as
though guided by a common instinct, it happened during this search, that
their hands, groping in the same spot, met ten times a minute. And, as
they were both equally awkward, they did not find the key.

"The moon, which is hidden just now by the clouds, shines right into the
room," said Jacques. "Let us wait a bit; by-and-by it will light up the
room and may help us."

And, pending the appearance of the moon, they began to talk. A
conversation in the dark, in a little room, on a spring night; a
conversation which, at the outset trifling and unimportant, gradually
enters on the chapter of personal confidences. You know what that leads
to. Language by degrees grows confused, full of reticences; voices are
lowered; words alternate with sighs. Hands meeting complete the thought
which from the heart ascends to the lips, and--. Seek the conclusion in
your recollection, young couples. Do you remember, young man. Do you
remember, young lady, you who now walk hand-in-hand, and who, up to two
days back, had never seen one another?

At length the moon broke through the clouds, and her bright light
flooded the room. Mademoiselle Francine awoke from her reverie uttering
a faint cry.

"What is the matter?" asked Jacques, putting his arm around her waist.

"Nothing," murmured Francine. "I thought I heard someone knock."

And, without Jacques noticing it, she pushed the key that she had just
noticed under some of the furniture.

She did not want to find it now.

* * * * *

_First Reader_: I certainly will not let