yhole. He was writing, and seemed very calm.

Then she returned to the kitchen and sat down, ready for any emergency.
She slept on a chair and awoke at daylight.

She did the rooms as she had been accustomed to every morning; she
swept and dusted, and, towards eight o'clock, prepared M. Lemonnier's
breakfast.

But she did not dare bring it to her master, knowing too well how she
would be received; she waited for him to ring. But he did not ring. Nine
o'clock, then ten o'clock went by.

Celeste, not knowing what to think, prepared her tray and started up
with it, her heart beating fast.

She stopped before the door and listened. Everything was still. She
knocked; no answer. Then, gathering up all her courage, she opened the
door and entered. With a wild shriek, she dropped the breakfast tray
which she had been holding in her hand.

In the middle of the room, M. Lemonnier was hanging by a rope from a
ring in the ceiling. His tongue was sticking out horribly. His right
slipper was lying on the ground, his left one still on his foot. An
upturned chair had rolled over to the bed.

Celeste, dazed, ran away shrieking. All the neighbors crowded together.
The physician declared that he had died at about midnight.

A letter addressed to M. Duretdur was found on the table of the suicide.
It contained these words:

"I leave and entrust the child to you!"

A COUNTRY EXCURSION

For five months they had been talking of going to take luncheon in one
of the country suburbs of Paris on Madame Dufour's birthday, and as
they were looking forward very impatiently to the outing, they rose very
early that morning. Monsieur Dufour had borrowed the milkman's wagon and
drove himself. It was a very tidy, two-wheeled conveyance, with a cover
supported by four iron rods, with curtains that had been drawn up,
except the one at the back, which floated out like a sail. Madame
Dufour, resplendent in a wonderful, cherry colored silk dress, sat by
the side of her husband.

The old grandmother and a girl sat behind them on two chairs, and a boy
with yellow hair was lying at the bottom of the wagon, with nothing to
be seen of him except his head.

When they reached the bridge of Neuilly, Monsieur Dufour said: "Here
we are in the country at last!" and at that signal his wife grew
sentimental about the beauties of nature. When they got to the
crossroads at Courbevoie they were seized with admiration for the
distant landscape. On the ri