om the faintest sunshine draws in crowds to
the promenades of Paris. Little Rose, feeling warm and gay, drew herself
up as if to show the people that she was a big girl. She crossed the
whole extent of the Champ de Mars without asking to be carried. And her
three brothers strode along making the frozen pavement resound beneath
their steps. Promenaders were ever turning round to watch them. In other
cities of Europe the sight of a young married couple preceded by four
children would have excited no comment, but here in Paris the spectacle
was so unusual that remarks of astonishment, sarcasm, and even
compassion were exchanged. Mathieu and Marianne divined, even if they
did not actually hear, these comments, but they cared nothing for
them. They bravely went their way, smiling at one another, and feeling
convinced that the course they had taken in life was the right one,
whatever other folks might think or say.

It was three o'clock when they turned their steps homeward; and
Marianne, feeling rather tired, then took a little rest on a sofa in
the drawing-room, where Zoe had previously lighted a good fire. The
children, quieted by fatigue, were sitting round a little table,
listening to a tale which Denis read from a story-book, when a visitor
was announced. This proved to be Constance, who, after driving out with
Maurice, had thought of calling to inquire after Marianne, whom she
saw only once or twice a week, although the little pavilion was merely
separated by a garden from the large house on the quay.

"Oh! are you poorly, my dear?" she inquired as she entered the room and
perceived Marianne on the sofa.

"Oh! dear, no," replied the other, "but I have been out walking for the
last two hours and am now taking some rest."

Mathieu had brought an armchair forward for his wife's rich, vain
cousin, who, whatever her real feelings, certainly strove to appear
amiable. She apologized for not being able to call more frequently, and
explained what a number of duties she had to discharge as mistress
of her home. Meantime Maurice, clad in black velvet, hung round her
petticoats, gazing from a distance at the other children, who one and
all returned his scrutiny.

"Well, Maurice," exclaimed his mother, "don't you wish your little
cousins good-day?"

He had to do as he was bidden and step towards them. But all five
remained embarrassed. They seldom met, and had as yet had no opportunity
to quarrel. The four little savages of