he Boulevard Pigalle; the sun has set; the sky is clear and bright as
a turquoise, and the sharp autumn wind detaches the last of the dried
leaves from the trees. Amedee is silent, but his anxious glance solicits
and waits for Louise's reply.

"Dear Amedee," said she, raising her frank, pure eyes to his face, "you
have the most generous and best of hearts. I suspected that you loved
Maria, and I would be glad to tell you at once that she loves you,
so that we might hereafter be but one family--but frankly I can not.
Although the dear child is a little frivolous, her woman's instinct must
suspect your feeling for her, but she has never spoken of it to mamma or
to me. Have confidence; I do not see anything that augurs ill for you
in that. She is so young and so innocent that she might love you without
suspecting it herself. It is very possible, probable even, that your
avowal will enlighten her as to the state of her own heart. She will
be touched by your love, I am sure, as well as by your devotion to the
whole family. I hope, with all my heart, Amedee, that you will succeed;
for, I can say it to you, some pleasure must happen in poor Maria's life
soon. She has moments of the deepest sadness and attacks of weeping that
have made me uneasy for some time. You must have noticed, too, that she
is overwhelmed with ennui. I can see that she suffers more than mamma
or I, at the hard life that we lead. It is not strange that she feels as
she does, for she is pretty and attractive, and made for happiness;
and to see the present and the future so sad! How hard it is! You can
understand, my friend, how much I desire this marriage to take place.
You are so good and noble, you will make Maria happy; but you have said
it, I am the one who represents wisdom in our house. Let me have then
a few days in which to observe Maria, to obtain her confidence, to
discover perhaps a sentiment in her heart of which she is ignorant; and
remember that you have a sure and faithful ally in me."

"Take your own time, dear Louise," replied the poet. "I leave everything
to you. Whatever you do will be for the best."

He thanked her and they parted at the foot of the Rue Lepic. It was a
bitter pleasure for the slighted one to give the young man her poor,
deformed, pianist's hand, and to feel that he pressed it with hope and
gratitude.

She desired and must urge this marriage. She said this over and over
again to herself, as she walked up the steep stre