efusing. No, no; it was I. I said to him: 'Sylvestre, this can never
be-never!' He was convinced against his will. Then she spoke to her
parents on her own account. They carried her off, and there was an end of
it."

"He never saw her again."

"Never; he would not have wished it; and then she lived a very little
time. I went back there two years later, when they wanted to buy the
picture. We were still living in Italy. That was one of the hardest hours
of my life. I was afraid of their reproaches, and I did not feel sure of
myself. But no, they suffered for their daughter as I for my son, and
that brought us together. Still, I did not give up the portrait;
Sylvestre set too great store by it. He insists on keeping it, feeding
his eyes on it, reopening his wound day by day. Poor child! Forget all
this, Monsieur Fabien; you can do nothing to help. Be true to your youth,
and tell us next time of Monsieur Charnot and Mademoiselle Jeanne."

Dear Madame Lampron! I tried to console her; but as I never knew my
mother, I could find but little to say. All the same, she thanked me and
assured me I had done her good.

CHAPTER V

A FRUITLESS SEARCH

January 1, 1885.

The first of January! When one is not yet an uncle and no longer a
godson, if one is in no government employ and goes out very little, the
number of one's calls on New Year's Day is limited. I shall make five or
six this afternoon. It will be "Not at home" in each case; and that will
be all my compliments of the season.

No, I am wrong. I have received the compliments of the season. My
porter's wife came up just now, wreathed in smiles.

"Monsieur Mouillard, I wish you a Happy New Year, good health, and Heaven
to end your days." She had just said the same to the tenants on the
first, second, and third floors. My answer was the same as theirs. I
slipped into her palm (with a "Many thanks!" of which she took no notice)
a piece of gold, which brought another smile, a curtsey, and she is gone.

This smile comes only once a year; it is not reproduced at any other
period, but is a dividend payable in one instalment. This, and a tear on
All Souls' Day, when she has been to place a bunch of chrysanthemums on
her baby's grave, are the only manifestations of sensibility that I have
discovered in her. From the second of January to the second of November
she is a human creature tied to a bell-rope, with an immovably stolid
face and a monosyl