as possible."

"They might come by the Gonesse diligence, which leaves Paris at eight
o'clock every evening."

"And as they would only have to place the furniture, lay down carpets,
and put up curtains, all that could easily be done by to-morrow
evening."

"Oh, my dear Madame Georges, what a load you have taken off my mind! I
should never have thought of this simple yet proper manner of
proceeding. You are the saving of me! Now, may I ask you to be so kind
as to draw me out the list of articles necessary to render the
pavilion--what is that hard word? I never can recollect it."

"Comfortable! Yes, I will at once set about it, and with pleasure."

"Dear me! here is another difficulty. Don't you see we are not told
whether to expect a lady or a gentleman? Madame de Lucenay, in her
letter, only says 'a person.' It is very perplexing, isn't it?"

"Then make your preparations as if for a lady, my dear Madame Dubreuil;
and, should it turn out a gentleman, why he will only have better reason
to be pleased with his accommodations."

"Quite right; right again, as you always are."

A servant here announced that breakfast was ready.

"Let breakfast wait a little," said Madame Georges. "And, while I draw
out the necessary list, send some person you can depend upon to take the
exact height and width of the three rooms, that the curtains and carpets
may more easily be prepared."

"Thank you. I will set our overseer to work out this commission."

"Madame," continued the servant, speaking to her mistress, "the new
dairy-woman from Stains is here with her few goods in a small cart drawn
by a donkey. The beast has not a heavy load to complain of, for the poor
body's luggage seems but very trifling."

"Poor woman!" said Madame Dubreuil, kindly.

"What woman is it?" inquired Madame Georges.

"A poor creature from Stains, who once had four cows of her own, and
used to go every morning to Paris to sell her milk. Her husband was a
blacksmith, and one day accompanied her to Paris to purchase some iron
he required for his work, agreeing to rejoin her at the corner of the
street where she was accustomed to sell her milk. Unhappily, as it
afterwards turned out, the poor woman had selected a very bad part of
Paris; for, when her husband returned, he found her in the midst of a
set of wicked, drunken fellows, who had, for mere mischief's sake, upset
all her milk into the gutter. The poor blacksmith tried to reason with
them upon th