er the effect of a pretty doll; and she had
gayety, playful vivacity, gracious effrontery, and a passionate caressing
glance. Dressed extravagantly, like the Parisian woman who has not a sou,
but who adorns everything she wears, she had an ease, a freedom, a
natural elegance that was charming. With this she had the voice of a
child, a joyous laugh, and an expression of sensibility on her fresh
face.

"I have come to dine with you," she said, gayly, "and I am so hungry."

He made a gesture that was not lost upon her.

"Do I disturb you?" she asked, uneasily.

"Not at all."

"Must you go out?"

"No."

"Then why did you make a gesture that showed indifference, or, at least,
embarrassment?"

"You are mistaken, my little Phillis."

"With any one else I might be mistaken, but with you it is impossible.
You know that between us words are not necessary; that I read in your
eyes what you would say, in your face what you think and feel. Is it not
always so when one loves--as I love you?"

He took her in his arms and kissed her long and tenderly. Then going to a
chair on which he had thrown his coat, he drew from the pocket the bread
that he had bought.

"This is my dinner," he said, showing the bread.

"Oh! I must scold you. Work is making you lose your head. Can you not
take time to eat?"

He smiled sadly.

"It is not time that I want."

He fumbled in his pocket and brought out three big sous.

"I cannot dine at a restaurant with six sous."

She threw herself in his arms.

"O dearest, forgive me!" she cried. "Poor, dear martyr! Dear, great man!
It is I who accuse you, when I ought to embrace your knees. And you do
not scold me; a sad smile is your only reply. And it is really so bad as
that! Nothing to eat!"

"Bread is very good eating. If I might be assured that I shall always
have some!"

"Well, to-day you shall have something more and better. This morning,
seeing the storm, an idea came to me associated with you. It is quite
natural, since you are always in my heart and in my thoughts. I told
mamma that if the storm continued I would dine at the pension. You can
imagine with what joy I listened to the wind all day, and watched the
rain and leaves falling, arid the dead branches waving in the whirlwind.
Thank God, the weather was bad enough for mamma to believe me safe at the
pension; and here I am. But we must not fast. I shall go and buy
something to eat, and we will play at making dinner by the f