ad at last noticed a young man, unknown to her,
whom she met every day at the same place.

Tall and robust, he had a grand look, notwithstanding his modest
clothes, the exquisite neatness of which betrayed a sort of
respectable poverty. He wore his full beard; and his proud and
intelligent features were lighted up by a pair of large black eyes,
of those eyes whose straight and clear look disconcerts hypocrites
and knaves.

He never failed, as he passed by Mlle. Gilberte, to look down, or
turn his head slightly away; and in spite of this, in spite of the
expression of respect which she had detected upon his face, she
could not help blushing.

"Which is absurd," she thought; "for after all, what on earth do I
care for that young man?"

The infallible instinct, which is the experience of inexperienced
young girls, told her that it was not chance alone that brought
this stranger in her way. But she wished to make sure of it. She
managed so well, that each day of the following week, the hour of
their walk was changed. Sometimes they went out at noon, sometimes
after four o'clock.

But, whatever the hour, Mlle. Gilberte, as she turned the corner of
the Rue des Minimes, noticed her unknown admirer under the arcades,
looking in some shop-window, and watching out of the corner of his
eye. As soon as she appeared, he left his post, and hurried fast
enough to meet her at the gate of the Place.

"It is a persecution," thought Mlle. Gilberte.

How, then, had she not spoken of it to her mother? Why had she not
said any thing to her the day, when, happening, to look out of the
window, she saw her "persecutor" passing before the house, or,
evidently looking in her direction?

"Am I losing my mind?" she thought, seriously irritated against
herself. "I will not think of him any more."

And yet she was thinking of him, when one afternoon, as her mother
and herself were working, sitting upon a bench, she saw the stranger
come and sit down not far from them. He was accompanied by an
elderly man with long white mustaches, and wearing the rosette
of the Legion of Honor.

"This is an insolence," thought the young girl, whilst seeking a
pretext to ask her mother to change their seats.

But already had the young man and his elderly friend seated
themselves, and so arranged their chairs, that Mlle. Gilberte could
not miss a word of what they were about to say. It was the young
man who spoke first.

"You know me as well