ld resign himself to
hang up the hammock of an idle woman in his home for the rest of his
life.

I am very much afraid that the Misses Simaise will never marry. They
had, however, a golden and unique opportunity during the Commune. The
family had taken refuge in Normandy, in a small and very litigious town,
full of lawyers, attorneys, and business men. No sooner had the father
arrived, than he looked out for orders. His fame as a sculptor was of
service to him, and as in the public square of the town there happened
to be a statue of Cujas done by him, all the notabilities of the place
wanted to have their busts done.

[Illustration: p141-152]

The mother at once fastened up the hammock in a corner of the studio,
and the young ladies organized a few parties. They at once met with
great success. Here at least, poverty seemed but an accident due to
exile; the disorder of the establishment was accounted for. The handsome
girls laughed loudly themselves at their destitution.

[Illustration: p142-153]

They had started off without anything; and nothing could be had now
Paris was closed. It lent to them an extra charm. It called to mind
travelling gipsies, combing their beautiful hair in barns, and quenching
their thirst in streams. The least poetical compared them in their minds
to the exiles of Coblentz, those ladies of Marie-Antoinette's court who,
obliged to fly in haste, without powder or hoops, or bedchamber women,
were driven to all sorts of makeshifts, learning to wait upon themselves,
and keeping up the frivolity of the French court, the piquant smile of
the lost patches.

[Illustration: p143-154]

Every evening a throng of dazzled lawyers crowded Simaise's studio. To
the sounds of a hired piano, all this little world danced the polka,
waltzed, schottisched,--they still schottische in Normandy. "I shall
end by marrying off one," thought old Simaise; and the fact is if one
had gone off, all the others would have followed suit. Unluckily the
first never went off, but it was a near touch. Amongst the numerous
partners of these young ladies, in that corps de ballet of lawyers,
attorneys and solicitors, the most rabid dancer was a widowed lawyer,
who was extremely attentive to the eldest daughter. He was called by
them "the first dancing attorney," in memory of Moliere's ballets, and
certainly, considering the rate at which the fellow whirled round, Papa
Simaise might well build the greatest hopes on him. But then