as I left school,
had elevated me to the dignity of chief and only clerk and shopman of
the "Maltese Cross."

But my uncle was not only a dealer in antiquities and a Municipal
Councillor, he was yet more, and above all, the father of my cousin
Rose, with whom I was naturally in love.

To come back to the point at which I digressed.

Without paying any attention to the sighs which exhaled from my bosom
while scouring the rust from my long, two-handed sword, my uncle,
magnifying glass in hand, was engaged in the examination of a lot of
medals which he had purchased that morning. Suddenly he raised his head;
five o'clock was striking.

"The Council!" he cried.

When my uncle pronounced that august word, it made a mouthful; for a
pin, he would have saluted it bare-headed. But, this time, after a
moment's consideration, he tapped his forehead and added, in a tone of
supreme relief:--

"No, the sitting does not take place before to-morrow--and I am
forgetting that I have to go to the railway station to get the
consignment of which I was advised this morning."

Rising from his seat, and laying down his glass, he called out:--

"Rose, give me my cane and hat!"

Then, turning towards me, he added, in a lowered tone and speaking very
quickly:--

"As to you--don't forget our conversation. If you think you can make me
say 'yes,' try!--but I don't think you'll succeed. Meanwhile, not a word
to Rose, or, by Saint Barthelemy, my patron of happy memory, I'll
instantly kick you out of doors!"

[Illustration: "AT THAT MOMENT ROSE APPEARED."]

At that moment Rose appeared with my uncle's cane and hat, which she
handed to him. He kissed her on the forehead; then, giving me a last but
eloquent look, hurried from the shop.

I went on scouring my double-handed sword. Rose came quietly towards me.

"What is the matter with my father?" she asked; "he seems to be angry
with you."

I looked at her--her eyes were so black, her look so kind, her mouth so
rosy, and her teeth so white that I told her all--my love, my suit to
her father, and his rough refusal. I could not help it--after all, it
was _his_ fault! He was not there: I determined to brave his anger.
Besides, there is nobody like timid persons for displaying courage under
certain circumstances.

My cousin said nothing; she only held down her eyes--while her cheeks
were as red as those of cherries in May.

I checked myself.

"Are you angry with me?" I asked, trembli